


The Heir to Tarth

by Kittles123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9672383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123
Summary: With the war over, Jaime and Brienne retreat to Tarth to live their lives with the child they have claimed as their daughter.  However, nothing remains secret for long, and soon the truth of the girl's real parentage begins to surface.  In King's Landing, Tyrion juggles his duties as Hand of the Queen, dragon rider, and lover of Daenerys Targaryen.  This is a sequel to The Lion in the North.





	1. The Evenstar

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again! This is a sequel to my previous fic. I have 2/3rds of this story plotted already, and I hope to have it completed in the next few months (hoping by April), but the chapters might come out slower than last time. Thank you so much for taking the time to read, I really do appreciate it, and of course any feedback is more than welcome!

**The Evenstar**

The sun had not yet risen over the crisp blue horizon of the sea when Selwyn Tarth woke to a gentle knock at his door, the signal that the Maester had arrived with the Evenstar’s daily brew to ease his rheumatism.  Even now, with this trusted Maester who had been with him since his own childhood, his stubborn pride compelled him to roll out of bed and clasp his sword belt around his waist before hollering for the old man to enter.

“Good morning, Lord Selwyn,” the Maester croaked, his own voice not yet awake.  He handed a cup to him.  The concoction was an old Dothraki recipe, straight from the valley of Vaes Dothrak.  It came courtesy of the Dragon Queen.  The potion had worked such wonders during his confinement in King’s Landing that he had instructed his Maester to find out it’s ingredients.  It was close, but not quite the same, perhaps only because it was made by a pale old man from the Citadel and not a weathered Dothraki grandmother.

“How are the seas?” Selwyn asked.  It was a decades old ritual between the two of them, to address the island weather.

“The seas are fair,” the Maester replied as he adjusted the sleeves of his robe at the wrists.  “We will have clear skies with nearly twelve hours of sunlight.”

Selwyn grabbed his cane and shuffled across his chambers to the window that looked out over the Straits of Tarth.  He hated the cane.  It made him feel older than his sixty years, but he supposed he was lucky that the old Maester was the only one to ever see him use it.  The brew took effect within an hour, so he would be upright and able-bodied before he had to appear in public.  He pushed the shutters open and took a deep breath of the clean salty air.  Gods, he would never tire of Tarth.  His brief stay in King’s Landing only made him love his island more.  Although King’s Landing lay on the coast as well, an oppressive heat and stench still managed to hang over it like a filthy blanket.  It took him a moment to realize that the Maester was yet behind him, waiting uneasily.

“What is it?” Selwyn asked.

“There’s been a raven from White Harbor, my lord.  Lady Brienne sails for Tarth.”

“Thank the gods,” Selwyn sighed and turned to face the Maester.  “I want my council gathered.  It is time to find a match for her.”

“But, my lord -”

“I know, I know, I said I would never try again.”  This time would be different, though, he knew it.  His daughter was no longer a laughing-stock, but a battle-forged knight, tried and proven in combat against some of the greatest knights in Westeros.  She’d fought in the Long Night, and where there used to be sniggers, there was now stunned admiration.  His little girl had proven everyone wrong, even himself.  It made his heart swell with pride, and now he knew she would be able to find a husband worthy of her.

“It’s not that, my lord.  It’s just, the lady is already wed.”

Selwyn swore he felt something go  _ pop _ in his head.  “W-what?!” he sputtered.  “Who? When?”  If the Dragon Queen or that bastard in the north arranged a marriage for his little girl without his consent, he would wring their scrawny necks, fealty be damned.  “Who arranged this marriage?”

“My lord, it appears the lady herself chose her husband.  She is wed to Ser Jaime of House Lannis-"

“The Kingslayer?!”  He rapped the cane against the floor with a crack.  If the Kingslayer had coerced his daughter into marriage in even the slightest way, he would smash that grinning golden scoundrel into the ground like a nail into a quarterdeck.

“My lord, please.  If I could speak freely.”

Selwyn put his face in his large hand and rubbed his bushy silver eyebrows, trying to quell the sudden headache that had exploded in his head.  He gestured with his other hand for the Maester to continue.

“If I may, my lord, Ser Jaime fought valiantly in the Long Night.  He protected your daughter’s honor during their time in the Riverlands.  She chose him of her own free will - you must know that she would never wed a man unless it was her own choice.  And now we may yet have an heir for Tarth.”

Selwyn’s rage began to ebb as he reluctantly acknowledged that the Maester was right.  Jaime had protected his daughter, he’d regained his honor, and he’d been pardoned by the Dragon Queen.  Though he would inherit no lands, he still retained his name and knighthood, and with his brother as Hand, it was actually a rather advantageous alliance.   _ And clearly my hardheaded daughter loves him, elsewise he would never have had a chance. _

“I see your point.  When do they arrive?”

“With favorable winds, two days from now.”

“Ah, alright.”  He threw his cane to the side as the medicine began to take its effect on his joints.  “Have her rooms prepared.  I want Evenfall Hall in pristine condition for her homecoming.  I’ve missed my little girl.”

 

Two days later, Lord Selwyn stood at the harbor docks, upright and caneless, watching as a pair of billowing white sails carried his daughter and her new husband into the port of Tarth.  The cabin boys jumped off the boat and set about securing her and bringing down her sails.  There was no fanfare; Selwyn knew Brienne would hate that, so he stood alone, his eyes keen to set upon her face again.  When he spotted her near the base of the main mast, he saw who could only be Jaime Lannister beside her.  As he looked on with scrutiny, he saw Jaime squeeze his daughter’s hand affectionately, and she smiled.  Selwyn’s heart swelled in his chest, and he felt tears prickling up in his eyes at the happiness apparent in her expression.

Then, as they descended the gang plank, he squared his shoulders and brought himself up to his full formidable height, which he was pleased to see was nearly a head taller than his daughter’s new husband.

“Lord Selwyn,” Jaime said and bowed his head respectfully to him.  Selwyn regarded him with a slight nod then looked to his only daughter.

“Father,” Brienne said, and he wondered why she did not come forward to embrace him.  Then she stepped to the side, and revealed why.  Before him stood a girl child, perhaps two or three years old.  She had white blonde hair and sparkling sapphire eyes, and she met his gaze with a determination that was so familiar to him, he knew who she was before anyone even spoke.  Lord Selwyn felt his face turning a beat, Lannister red.

“Lord Selwyn,” Jaime said, his voice composed, though the effort it took to keep it so was obvious, “This is Vivienne, our natural daughter.”

The Evenstar’s jaw dropped.   _Like a nail into a quarterdeck._


	2. Dragon Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot of set-up, but I should have another chapter out in a few days. Thank you so much for reading!

**Dragon Problems**

 

Tyrion stared at the piles of scrolls and parchment on his desk and sighed.  It was unlike him to be disorganized, but even though normal life had stopped in the north during the War for the Dawn, the demands and political maneuverings of the lords of the south had carried on.  When Tyrion had returned to King’s Landing with the Queen and her dragons, there had been piles of scrolls stacked on any horizontal surface in the office of the Tower of the Hand.  By his rough estimation, there had been over 500 items needing his attention, most of them frivolous.

“Can we get to the drinking yet?” Bronn asked from his post at the door.

“I’m tempted to throw them all in the fire.”  He grabbed a random scroll and leaned back in his chair to read it.  “Oh, another marriage proposal.  That makes fifty-seven now, if I’m not mistaken.  And the rest are idiotic complaints and disputes that any child would know the solution to.  Can these houses handle nothing themselves?  Next they will need me to wipe their asses for them.”

“You’re the right height for it.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Bronn shrugged and turned back to the hall with a smirk on his face.

Perhaps he would take on an assistant or two, to handle the busy work.  Tyrion had too many real problems to be wasting his time on scrolls.

Yara Greyjoy was still in the capital, though she planned to return to Pyke soon.  Her uncle Euron was still unaccounted for, which made Tyrion nervous.  He did not want yet another Greyjoy Rebellion, and if Euron returned to Pyke, that was what there would be, because that was the only thing the Greyjoys knew how to do.

Then there was the Iron Bank.  The Braavosi bankers were pleased that Daenerys had taken the throne, and they were giving her time to organize her reign, but Tyrion knew that sooner than later they would be calling on their debt.  The Queen had yet to choose a Master of Coin, and not for lack of trying.  It was a difficult position to fill, and one that could easily be corrupted by the wrong person.

And finally, there was the most pressing problem of all.  Tyrion slid from his chair and walked over to the window that looked out over Blackwater Bay.  A warm breeze ruffled his hair and the sun shone bright on the dragons’ scales as they wheeled and dove over the ocean.  Drogon had grown larger than the largest ship in the bay, while Viserion had lengthened and her wings had grown, but she looked more like a string bean while Drogon looked like a true monster.  Rhaegal was far out at sea, barely a glint on the horizon.  He was still smaller than his big brother, but he was lightning quick and his flaming breath shot further and wider than his siblings ever did.  Rhaegal had yet to choose a rider, and was beginning to display some rather unsavory behavior, specifically a taste for man flesh.  During the Battle for the Dawn, Tyrion had noticed that Rhaegal ate any wight he could get his teeth on, and now that they were back in King’s Landing, Rhaegal would pick the heads and corpses of dead criminals off the walls of the city.  He knew the sound of the executioner’s boots on the platform, of his sword hitting the block, and the dragon would come flying in like a dog for a treat at the sound.

“That one is trouble,” Tyrion muttered.

“Aye,” Bronn said as he peered out the same window from his post at the door.  “Though I’ve heard little brothers often are.”

“You know he ate Cersei,” Tyrion said.  “The Queen did not tell me at first.  I think she was trying to spare my feelings.  Apparently he snatched her from Drogon’s flames and carried her out to sea.  Tossed her in the air like a cat toying with a mouse.”

Bronn said nothing.  Tyrion looked back at him and saw that his face was contorted in disgust.  For once, his sellsword was speechless.

“Jaime doesn’t know.  Let’s keep it that way.”  Tyrion stepped away from the window and belted his sword around his waist.  It was a short, thin blade - a gift from Jon Snow.  Apparently he’d had something similar made for Arya Stark.  Tyrion occasionally wondered what had become of that Stark; something about her had always given Tyrion pause, and he would not be surprised if she was yet alive somewhere.

A page appeared in the doorway with a scroll in his hand.  Bronn stopped him at the threshold.  He looked unfamiliar to Tyrion.

“Lord Hand, a message from Ser Jaime of Tarth.”

Bronn sniggered at the title, but Tyrion furrowed his brow and took the scroll from the boy.  It was too large for a raven to carry and sealed in wax stamped with the suns and moons of Tarth.

“Did you carry this from Tarth yourself, boy?” Tyrion asked as he held the scroll, feeling its weight in his hands.  It felt heavy.   _But it is only a parchment, only words on paper._

“Yes, Lord Hand.  Ser Jaime told me to bring it straight to your hands.”

Tyrion nodded.  “Pay him, Bronn, and send him on his way.”

Then he closed to door, leaving the two others in the hallway.  He sat at his desk and broke the wax seal.  He was a fast reader, and at first there was nothing of interest in the letter.  Jaime prattling on about their voyage from White Harbor, about Tarth and the Evenstar.  But then…

_I have a favor to ask of you.  Brienne and I have a natural daughter, Vivienne, who is now here with us.  She was conceived on our journey to King’s Landing four years ago.  It is important to us that she be legitimized.  Visit me on Tarth as soon as you can - Jaime._

“Seven bloody hells,” Tyrion said in awe.  “Bronn!”

Bronn opened the door and leaned his head in.  “What do you want now?”

“Get in here and close the door behind you.  Then read this.”

Bronn was a slower reader than he was, and Tyrion grew impatient.  “Just skip to the last paragraph.”

Bronn read it, his face impassive.  “Huh, I didn’t think your brother had it in him.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Yeah.  Bastards are born every day.  One sits on a throne as the King in the North.  What of it?”

“Bronn, this is impossible.  There is no way that they had a child and no one knew.”

“Again, may I refer you to Jon Snow.”

Bronn had a point.  Jon Snow’s true parentage had remained a secret for nearly two decades, and his father was one of the most famous men in the history of Westeros.  Perhaps Jaime and Brienne had managed to keep it a secret, but he couldn’t believe that Jaime would not have told him during their time in Winterfell together.

“I need to go to Tarth as soon as possible,” Tyrion said and put the end of the parchment into the flame of a candle on his desk.

“Can I come?” Bronn asked.

“If you must,” Tyrion said as he watched the parchment burn down closer and closer to his fingers.  Panicked, he began to wave it around which only made the flames burn faster.

“The fuck you doing?” Bronn snatched the parchment from him and put in on the stone floor.

“Sorry, I’ve never done that before.  It seemed appropriately dramatic.”

“Fucking Lannisters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My little nod to the Valonqar prophecy :)


	3. Welcome to Tarth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, please enjoy!

**Welcome to Tarth**

 

Brienne leaned against the dark stone window sill and took a deep breath of the fresh sea air.  The salty breeze had already worked itself into her hair, tousling and curling it in a way that made her feel young again.  She was hardly old by the numbers, just past her thirtieth year, but her body and mind had endured enough for a lifetime already.

She stood in her old room, looking at the white sand beach that ran the length of one side of Evenfall Hall.  Two figures walked the beach, one large and broad, the other barely a wisp in a light blue dress - one of Brienne’s old dresses, she knew.  Her father held Vivienne’s hand and doted on her.  They paused occasionally to dip their feet in the tide or toss stones into the water.  Her chest tightened when she saw him skip a stone for Vivienne, the little girl squealing in delight just as she herself had done when she was young.  It had not taken long for Lord Selwyn Tarth to fall madly in love with his granddaughter.  Then a sudden fear struck at her heart.   _ What have we done? _

On the voyage from White Harbor, Brienne had been the one to first broach the subject.  She told Jaime of what the midwife had said, and even of her concerns with her body when he begged her to tell him why she was so sullen.

“You would take the word of some unknown woman as absolute truth?” Jaime asked.

“I just…” she paused, so many fears running through her head.  Would he be upset or angry with her?  It was yet another way that she failed as a woman.  “I just know it to be true.  It’s something I’ve wondered before, but it never seemed to matter before.”

Jaime looked at her, eyes soft but unreadable, until he took her into his arms, his breath warm on her neck.  “It’s okay,” he soothed her, reassured her.

Then she told him her plan.  “Tarth needs an heir,” she said.

He nodded.  “Tarth needs an heir.”

So the nameless orphan girl became Vivienne.

 

Now that same little girl picked up a stone from the beach and hurled it into the water, laughing gleefully.   _ Gods, she has quite the arm on her.   _ Brienne smiled, then turned when there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“My lady,” a serving girl entered and dipped her head to her.  “Good afternoon.  May I draw you a bath?”

“Yes, actually that would be nice.”  The last time she’d had a proper bath had been at Winterfell.

“Yes, my lady,” the girl smiled pleasantly and busied herself with readying the tub.  She was a tall, strapping girl with a thick auburn locks that reminded Brienne of Lady Sansa’s hair.  Brienne felt the urge to help her carry the buckets of water from the fire, but the girl looked horrified then nearly laughed.

“Lady Brienne, please let me!  You’re home now, and I’m plenty strong.”  And she was.  Her long arms rippled with muscle.  She probably helped her family haul in the crab nets or fishing lines in the morning, then worked in the keep during the day.  Tarth was made up of a hardy island people, and Brienne felt less an oddity here, though she was still taller than nearly everyone else.

“Your bath is ready, my lady,” the girl said after a time.  The tub was full of steaming water and the fresh scent of hibiscus soap wafted from the bath.

Brienne shed her clothing and began to climb into the tub when the serving girl gasped.  Brienne was used to people being shocked by her scars and muscles, but that was not where the serving girl’s eyes rested.  Brienne looked down, confused, then blushed with embarrassment.

“I… I’m sorry my lady, you’ve been away for a long,  _ long  _ time.”

“There is no time for such things in the field of battle,” Brienne said, “and it’s not so commonplace on the mainland as it is here.”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” the girl repeated with a worried look.  “If it please you, let me get my things, and I will take care of it for you.”

Brienne sighed, then nodded her acquiescence.

 

After soaking in the bath for some time, Brienne laid down on the bed and the serving girl set to work.  She winced with each yank of the girl’s arm, but when she was finally finished, a satisfied smile bloomed on the girl’s face, as if she had just completed some insurmountable task, and even Brienne had to admit she felt refreshed.   _ What will Jaime think? _  She nearly laughed at the thought.

“Does it please you my lady?” the girl asked hopefully.

“Yes, thank you.”

The girl let out a relieved breath then gathered her things and curtsied to her before leaving.

Brienne slipped into a robe and, suddenly tired, flopped onto her childhood bed and fell asleep.

 

A large hand rustling her hair woke her from her nap.  Jaime’s smiling face loomed over her.  “I was wondering what became of you; it’s nearly suppertime.”

Brienne propped herself up on the bed.  “How was your tour?”  The castellan had insisted on giving Jaime a tour of the island, and would not take no for an answer.  He’d said that Jaime needed to know everything there was to know about Tarth if he was ever to become “an islander.”

“It’s unlike anywhere I’ve ever been - beautiful with sharp edges,” he said as he moved away to poke around her old room.  He ran his left hand along the spines of the books on her shelves, his fingers trailing along them in such a way that it sent a pleasant shiver down her own spine.

“Quite heavy reading for a young maiden,” Jaime muttered as he read the book titles, tilting his golden head to the side to make out the words easier.  “ _ A History of the Storm Kings.  Rebellion: The Reign of Durwald the Fat.  Topography of the Straits of Tarth.   _ Gods, did you read only to fall asleep?”

Brienne swung her legs to the floor and scowled.  “Some of us have an appreciation for history.”

“Perhaps your should have married my brother,” Jaime teased, then began to peek into her dresser drawers.  “Oh,” he said in surprise and pulled a pair of bathing shorts from the top drawer.  “You wear this?” he asked.

“They are for spear fishing.  One cannot be weighed down by fabric out in the ocean,” she said matter-of-factly.

He held them up, eyeing them suspiciously.  “I’m not sure if I want my lady wife showing off her legs in these.”  He gave her a smirk and she felt heat rise to her cheeks.  He was merciless as always.

“While we are on the subject of my brother,” Jaime began and moved back to sit next to her on the bed.  “He will be visiting within the fortnight.”

“So soon?”

“Yes… I think I’ve alarmed him.  He’s always been one to overreact, especially to things that take him by surprise.  He will have questions,” Jaime said and leaned in close to her.  “Such as when exactly I got this child on you.”

“On our way to King’s Landing, just as we discussed,” Brienne said, not understanding.

“But  _ when, _ ” Jaime murmured against her neck.  “My brother is extremely nosy, and has no sense of decency.  He’ll want to know details.”

Brienne scoffed, aghast.  “That’s entirely not his business,” she said then gasped as Jaime began to kiss down her neck as he simultaneously pushed her back onto the bed.

“Perhaps you were so taken with my dashing looks you couldn’t control yourself.”  He ran his fingers through her damp hair, his eyes dancing.  “The moment we were alone, you fell into my arms, swooning like a proper lady.”

Brienne swatted at him.  “Stop!”  She laughed in spite of herself.  “I would never.”

“Never?” he purred against her ear and then she was completely surrounded, consumed by him and her heart was racing.  He trailed his lips down her neck, nudging at her robe.  “Or maybe you took a wound to the shoulder, and I stitched it for you.  I respected your modesty as best I could, but it required me to touch you quite close to one of your perfect little breasts.”  Heat blossomed between her legs as he touched her chest, pushing her robe further to the side, but stopping before it slipped away entirely, and to her own embarrassment, she let out a noise of disappointment.  “Why, my lady, you are quite wanton.  As a knight, I must be chivalrous at all times, no matter how much you beg.”

“Gods, you are horrible,” she breathed, but he was anything but that as he sat back on his knees between her legs.

“I think the most likely scenario,” he drawled as he slid his hand up one of her legs, the fabric of her robe falling away, “is that I inadvertently came upon you, bathing in a river.  I stole a look at you, at these outrageously long, luscious legs and could think of nothing else,”  He kissed the inside of her thigh, ”than settling between them.”

She squirmed beneath him, her breath short, and she was near the point of begging when he finally nudged her thighs apart and went to touch her.

Then he stopped, and she felt his warm breath on her skin as he exhaled sharply, and she remembered.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the practical thing here,” she stammered.

He swallowed, staring at the pale, smooth skin between her legs.

“If it bothers you-”

He cut her off with a croak.  “No.”  He sounded like he could hardly breath.  “Gods, no.  I just…”  Then he nuzzled into the now hairless skin, kissing her folds, flicking his tongue against her sex.

“It’s just - the practical - thing to do,” she panted, then could not speak anymore as he devoured her, slipping his fingers into her and moaning into her flesh.  His mouth moved up to toy with one of her nipples, and she reached for his laces and tugged his breeches down.  He sank into her with the familiar certainty which their lovemaking had achieved, filling her completely as his lips returned to hers.

She closed her eyes and soaked it all in as he thrust into her, and with his elbows braced on either side of her, he was all-consuming.  He groaned as he came, and she hitched her legs around him and pulled him deep, igniting waves of pleasure within herself as he rested his stubbled cheek against her own, a satisfied sigh tickling her ear.

“I think I’m going to like it here, Wife,” he whispered as he pulled her to him to laze on the bed side by side.  “In fact, I’m not sure if we'll ever leave this room.”

Even now, he managed to bring a blush to her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much plot, just some J and B action that I can never resist writing. The story picks up again when Tyrion comes to Tarth, which will be in the next chapter or two. And Bronn will be tagging along of course :)


	4. Liars and Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Bronn go to Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! Thanks to FaerieChild for the info on legitimacy; it helped me write this chapter more authentically :)

**Liars and Fools**

 

Tyrion climbed the steps to the Queen’s chambers in the Red Keep, a scroll held tight in one hand.  He was alone and nervous.  Bronn was at the docks making the final preparations for their voyage to Tarth.  They would leave at midday.  He tried to shake off the anxious feeling - he was safe enough in the castle. Guards stood posted at every door and hallway, as was befitting a Queen, though Daenerys had yet to complete her Queensguard, having picked only three of the seven. Those she had selected from her Unsullied and Dothraki. It turned out trusted knights were hard to come by in Westeros.

When he reached her solar door, her Unsullied let him by with a nod.  Grey Worm stood at the left of the door and gave him the faintest of smiles.  He did not wear a white cloak, for he had already pledged his life to another.

Tyrion entered the sunlit room and clutched the scroll tighter.  It contained the legitimacy documents for Vivienne Tarth, and then he realized the cause of his anxiety.     _ I am nervous to lie to my Queen. _  He knew it was a lie the instant he'd read his brother's words.  Jaime had told him Brienne was still a maid back in their time together at Winterfell, during the Long Night.  And the girl couldn’t be one of Jaime’s bastards with another woman.  Tyrion doubted his brother had ever strayed from Cersei’s bed to father one, and in the off chance that he had, Cersei would have murdered the babe in the cradle.  No, Tyrion was certain Jaime had no living bastards.

Daenerys sat at the window, leaning on the stone sill, bathed in sunlight.  Tyrion closed the door gently behind him and walked to the middle of the room.

“My Queen,” he said and bowed to her.

Daenerys turned to face him.  Her eyes were red, and the kohl she sometimes lined them with was smudged on her cheeks.   _ Rhaegal has yet to return then. _  The dragon had flown off nearly a week ago, and no one had seen him since.

“It’s alright,” Tyrion said and embraced her where she sat.  Her small shoulders shuddered against him as she let out a shaky breath.  “He’ll come back.”

Just then Viserion swooped by the window.  The dragon must have heard his voice.  She trilled happily and perched outside, then presented the side of her neck for scratches.

“There’s my girl,” Tyrion said and obliged her.

Daenerys laughed between sniffles.  “I think she means to steal you from me.”

“Well, I’ve been rumored to have perversions, but even I could not go that far.”  Tyrion kissed her forehead, then she tilted her face up to meet his lips with her own.  Heat blossomed in his chest, warmer than the sun on his skin.

“How do you know?”  Daenerys grabbed his hand.  “How do you know Rhaegal will come back?”

“Children always do.  If you recall, I once fled King’s Landing.  I returned.”

Daenerys raised a skeptical brow.  “With an invading army.”

“Don’t worry, Rhaegal is not as cunning as me.  He will return with a belly full of fish at best.”   _ If we are lucky it will be only fish and not the fisherman too. _

“What is that?  More bad news?” she asked as she looked to the scroll in his hand.

“The legitimacy documents for my brother’s daughter,” Tyrion said, the words nearly sticking in his throat.  Fortunately, the Queen was too lost in her own world of sorrow to notice.  He gave her a quill, and she signed them without even reading them.

“Pointless, really.  The girl is as good as trueborn already,” she said.

_ True, _ thought Tyrion, which made the urgency of matter even more suspicious.

“I am hesitant to let you go to Tarth… there is so much yet unsettled here.  But I will allow you this favor since you have served me well.”  She gave him such a forlorn look he nearly told her he would stay, and then she looked out the window with a sigh.  “Perhaps you will see Rhaegal on the voyage.  He likes goat.  Maybe you should stow a few in the ship’s hold.”

_ She is beside herself with a mother’s grief.  The damned beast best return soon. _  Though in truth, in some secret recess of his mind he hoped the dragon was dead, floating in the sea somewhere, never to be found.  The dragon was a maneater, and, with no rider, difficult if not impossible to control.

“Come,” Tyrion said and took her hand.  “Let me bid my Queen a proper farewell.”

Finally, a true smile graced her face.  She rose from her chair and allowed herself to be led to her bedroom that adjoined the solar.

In short order, he was flat on his back with his Queen straddled across him, riding him with such a sure rhythm it was apparent she had spent many years on horseback.  Her white blonde hair fell around him, her skin warm against his own, and he let everything else fall away.  She came with a satisfied cry - what the gods had shorted him in height, he made up for in length - and he followed shortly after.  He spilled inside her regularly.  She’d told him she could never bear a child, so there was no risk of that.  When he asked her what they would do if she somehow did fall pregnant, she’d just smiled and said that only then would there ever be a royal wedding.

They both must have dozed off, because Tyrion woke to a knock at the solar door.  Daenerys leapt out of bed and straightened her dress, then turned to him.  “Lord Hand?” she said in the unwavering voice of the Mother of Dragons.

“My Queen,” he replied and arched a brow at her.  He slid out of bed, his feet hitting the stone floor with a thunk, then took his place at the side of the solar.

“Enter,” Daenerys commanded.

Yara Greyjoy and Bronn entered.  They both bowed, Yara reminding Tyrion of Lady Brienne bowing before Joffrey.

“Are the ships ready?” Daenerys asked from her bench in the middle of the room.

“Aye,” replied Yara and Bronn simultaneously.  The pair looked at each other in annoyance.  They would have made a great couple, except Yara seemed disinterested in what Bronn was bringing to the table.   _ Namely, his cock.   _ Tyrion sniggered; everyone ignored him.

“The captain says we can shove off at your pleasure, Lord Hand,” Bronn said.

“Alright then,” Tyrion said and bowed to Daenerys.  “Thank you, my Queen.”

“Don’t forget the goats,” Daenerys said, then invited Yara to sit with her.  Yara Greyjoy would be leaving port today to reclaim the Seastone Chair with the the Iron Throne’s might backing her claim.  Tyrion and Bronn left them to their business.

“Goats?” Bronn said.

“Don’t ask,” replied Tyrion.  “We live in a world ruled by women,” he added as they walked down the hall.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” Bronn replied.

“No, you do not.  In fact, I much prefer it.”

 

The voyage to Tarth was uneventful.  Not surprisingly, there had been no sign of Rhaegal, but no ghost ships either.  If Rhaegal had decimated a fishing boat, Tyrion saw no evidence of it.  The seas were calm and the winds favorable, and overall it was a much more pleasant voyage than the one he had taken in a crate.

“I can’t believe your pampered, rich ass survived that,” Bronn said.  “But at least your size was in your favor.  A shipping crate is probably akin to a spacious room at an inn for me.”

Bronn was right.  It was one of the ever-growing list of times his dwarfism came in handy.  In the solar earlier, a man of Jaime’s looks and stature would have been looked upon with suspicious eyes, having been alone with his beautiful Queen.  No one suspected Tyrion; the Queen couldn’t possibly want him.  If it wasn’t for the plethora of whores he’d fucked in his day, the masses would probably have believed he had a thimble for a cock too.

The ship came to dock at night, the black of the sea mixing seamlessly with the black of the sky.  It was near midnight, but Jaime stood on the docks awaiting them.

“You got anything to drink on this island?” Bronn asked.

Jaime grinned.  “Of course.  I’ll take you to the dockside watering hole.  It’s a bit seedy, so you should fit right in.”

“Jaime, we need to talk,” Tyrion cut in.

“Calm down, little brother.  This will be the perfect place.”

_ It must be full of liars and fools then, _ he thought as he followed Jaime and Bronn into the night.

 

The tavern lived up to Jaime’s description.   _ The Salty Maid _ was dark and smoky, with an unidentifiable film coating it’s flat surfaces.  Fish oil, Jaime told him.  The fishermen who frequented the bar came straight here from cleaning their catches.  Tyrion watched Jaime interact with the local crews, chumming it up and asking about the seas.  It was something Tyrion would never have thought to do, and he felt almost sorry for his brother.  He could tell Jaime missed the camaraderie of the battlefield.

After a few rounds of ale, Bronn had a serving girl on his knee, leaving Jaime and Tyrion to speak alone.

“I have your documents,” Tyrion said after a sip of ale.  He watched his brother’s face as relief swept over it.

“Thank you,” Jaime muttered into his cup.  “Though that doesn’t do it justice.”

“I’m confused, Jaime,” Tyrion began as he leaned on the tabletop, talking in a conspiratorial whisper.  “Why the urgency?  By most conventions, since you have married, a daughter of your’s and Brienne’s is as good as trueborn anyway.  And if not, will there be no more children to follow her?”

Jaime shifted uncomfortably.  “Brienne believes herself barren.  Some halfwit midwife told her as much.”

Tyrion frowned.  This sounded eerily familiar.

“Brienne is the heir to Tarth.  If she were to fail to produce an heir, Tarth would fall back into the hands of the stormlords.  According to the Evenstar, anyway,” Jaime added.

Tyrion thought the Evenstar was being paranoid, but didn’t say so.  “How is the Evenstar, anyway?  How did he take to the news that you got his only daughter pregnant with a bastard?”

Jaime’s jaw worked and his eyes narrowed.  His fist clenched tight around his cup.  “He was… nonplussed.”

“Really?  I’d have thought he would be furious.  The Kingslayer desecrating his daughter’s honor in the war torn Riverlands.  Getting her with child, then sending her back into the fray with only your Valyrian sword to protect her?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jaime growled and slammed his stump on the table, making the cups clatter.

“I’m sorry Jaime, I’m only trying to understand.  In Winterfell, you’d told me the lady was yet a maiden.”  He was getting there.  Just a few more barbs, and his brother would break.  “Tell me more, perhaps it will help.  Did Podrick deliver the babe?  Or perhaps the Hound?  Would that have been before or after Brienne bit his ear off?”

Jaime startled.  “She bit his ear off?”

“Oh yes, the right one, if I’m not mistaken.”   _ I’ve seen it myself.   _ The Hound had presented himself in King’s Landing to Queen Daenerys, hidden amongst a contingent of Lannister men-at-arms that had returned from the Battle for the Dawn.  The Hound had fought among them in anonymity.  He’d left the capitol shortly after to pledge his sword to Tyrion’s erstwhile wife.

Jaime raised his brows and took a deep swig of his ale.  “Fuck.”

“Yes.  Brutal.  But anyway, perhaps she simply found the babe in the leg of her breeches one morning.”

“Fine,” Jaime huffed and glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot.  Bronn was a few tables over with the serving girl now gyrating in his lap.  “We found her on the way to White Harbor.  Her mother was dead, and she would have starved if we didn’t take her.”

“Of course, you had no choice.  But that still doesn’t explain why you are pretending that she is your daughter by blood.”

Jaime just shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words, but then looked Tyrion dead in the eyes.  “Tarth needs an heir.  Brienne claims she cannot bear a child, and who am I to argue.  Women’s intuition is a powerful thing.”

“So it is,” Tyrion said and thought of Daenerys’ own barren womb.  “Alright, I will help you keep this secret.  Because you are going to need it.”

“I just… it was the one thing, the most important thing, that I had kept my honor in.  I  _ saved _ Brienne from rape, from losing her maidenhead to some vile creature in the Riverlands.  And now it appears that I saved it only so that I could take it myself some other night.  Gods,” Jaime groaned and looked down at the table.  “I wanted to treat her with honor, and now I can’t even claim that.”

“But you did treat her honorably.  It’s just that the rest of the world can’t know.”

Jaime drained his cup and let out a hollow laugh.  “I’m starting to feel a bit too much like Ned Stark for my liking.”

“Or that history is repeating itself.”   _ You slew the Mad King and lied about the circumstances for years.   _ Finally Jaime’s name was cleared in regards to that, and now another lie tarnished his honor.

“Yes, it tends to do that doesn’t it?”  Jaime’s eyes were becoming squinty.  “Well, we should get back to the castle.  Brienne wants to take us all spearfishing tomorrow.”

Tyrion’s stomach dropped and he nearly choked on his ale.  “Pardon me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of set-up this chapter. Tyrion and Jaime are going to discuss the situation further, and Jaime is also going to try to interrogate Tyrion about Daenerys. Next chapter will mainly be the spearfishing expedition though! Poor Tyrion :D


	5. The Half Man and the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how long it took me to put out this chapter. I had massive writer's block, but things should start coming out once a week again from here out. Thank you so much for reading!

**The Half Man and the Sea**

 

“How was the rest of your evening?” Jaime asked.  “You’ve looked better.”  The brothers stood on the docks.  It was early, and the fishing boats were just getting underway.  Crabbers and fishermen yelled to one another.  The smell of breakfast wafted on the air, mixed with the constant smell of fish.

“I’ve felt better.”  Tyrion shaded his eyes from the rising sun.  “I feel like shit actually.  I blame Bronn.  He kept me up drinking until the wee hours of the morning.  With the hangover I have, the last place I need to be is on a sailboat.  Fair warning.”

“I meant to tell you something last night.  You reminded me of it when you mentioned that my darling wife had bit off the Hound’s ear.”

“You’re afraid she is going to kill you?  It’s too late, you’re already married.”

“The dead woman… she was young, and her garb reminded me of a King’s Landing whore.”

“There are hundreds upon thousands of whores that pass through the capital.”

“This one was missing an ear.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed.  “There are not many whores missing an ear.  Tell me you’ve told no one this.”

“I haven’t, not even Brienne.  Honestly it had slipped my mind until last night.”

“Never speak of it.  Also, once I wracked my brain, it turns out that the Evenstar is correct.  Without an heir, House Buckler of Bronzegate would inherit Evenfall Hall.  Apparently Lord Buckler is a distant cousin, next of kin.”

“I remember learning of their house and sigil as a child, but other than that I know nothing of them.”

“They are rather unnotable.”

“So are you excited to partake in some sport today?”

“I will not be putting a single toe in the water.  Once this headache passes, I plan to lay in the sun and drink.  Perhaps I will regale you all with stories of dragon riding or of my not one, but two treks through Valyria.  I don’t need to stab fish with a spear to prove my manliness.”

A sharp whistle carried across the morning breeze.  Jaime turned to see Bronn approaching with a smirk on his face.  “Hello, boys.  Everyone ready for some fishing?”

“What are you so goddamned chipper about?” Tyrion grumbled.  “I blame you, by the way, for my current condition.”

“Not my fault the Lord Hand cannot hold his liquor.”

“My sincerest ‘fuck you’ to you as well.”  Tyrion rubbed his forehead and swallowed thickly, as if he was holding back vomit.  “Maybe I should stay back.”

“Too late,” Bronn said and nodded to the dock.

Brienne pulled up on a small sailboat, it’s brilliant blue sail billowing in the wind.  She looked so calm and capable, and it warmed Jaime’s heart.  Something in her face relaxed here on Tarth.  The permanent furrow in her brow disappeared, and he’d seen her smile more in the past month than she had in the rest of the time he’d known her.  He hoped their marriage was the reason for this, but Vivienne also played a part.  Watching Brienne interacting with the girl made it painfully obvious that she enjoyed being a mother.   _ She herself doesn’t even know it yet, but the girl lights up her life.  And I am growing more attached to her than to any of the children spawned from my own seed. _

Once they were all settled on the boat, Brienne shared their itinerary.

“First, we will fish in the shallows.  The morning is best for that.  Then we move to the reef,” she said as she tightened sails.  Bronn stepped up and loosed the boat from the moorings, then assisted Brienne in guiding the them out of the harbor.

“Have you sailed much, Ser Bronn?” she asked.

“Aye, a bit, my lady.”

“More than a bit, I’d say,” Jaime said from his place at the bow.  Tyrion sat across from him, his skin an unnerving shade of green.  “You’re full of surprises, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.”

“Understatement of the day,” Tyrion said.

Bronn just nodded with an uncharacteristic silence, then turned his attention to the sea.

 

Once they reached the shallows on the leeward side of the island, Brienne and Bronn dropped anchor.  They worked together quite seamlessly, Jaime noted.  He’d done his share of sailing in his youth, but it was clear that Brienne and Bronn had more experience.

“Here are the spears,” Brienne said and handed each one of them a wooden-handled weapon with a barb on the end.  Jaime turned it in his hand.  He’d imagined it differently, more like the weapons Dornish spearmen carried.  This was smaller, lighter, easy to wield with one hand.

“No, thank you, my lady,” Tyrion said when Brienne offered him a spear.  “I am perfectly content to watch the spectacle from here.”  He uncorked his flask of wine.  “And Arbor Gold doesn’t drink itself.”

“Glad your feeling better, Brother.”  Jaime rolled up his pant legs and slipped into the water.  It was cooler than he expected, but he supposed the ocean temperatures had yet to recover from the winter.  The water lapped around his knees, and he followed Brienne and Bronn over the smooth stones that covered the sea floor.  It was a trick to keep his balance, but after some time, he was spearing shiny silver fish, thoroughly enjoying himself.

They spent nearly an hour in the shallows, and when they returned to the boat, they found Tyrion napping in the sun.

“Ah, the baby is sleeping,” Jaime said.

“Aye, let’s not wake the little bastard, either.  I’ve heard more than I ever wanted to know about dragons today,” Bronn said.  “Now, onward to the deep, my lady?”

“Yes.  Do you dive, Ser Bronn?”

“It’s been years, but aye.”

“It’s been years for me as well.”  Brienne smiled.  “Let us see how we do.”

 

When they reached their new fishing spot, Jaime asked, “So what should I do first?”

“I think you best sit this one out.  Takes training,” Bronn replied as he began to remove his clothing.  He stripped all the way down to some swimming shorts.  Jaime was shocked by all the scars on his body.  More than he and Brienne combined.  The man had lived a hard life.  Then he noticed Tyrion gaping at something, and turned to see Brienne stripped down to the same suit he had found in her drawers while exploring her room weeks earlier.  She was statuesque, every muscle and curve sculpted to perfection, and he could tell Tyrion had not expected it.   _ It is difficult to anticipate what lies beneath my lady wife’s layers of chain mail and armor.   _ He smirked as Tyrion looked at him and raised his eyebrow.   _ Yes, that is my wife.  Don’t be too jealous, brother. _  Jaime knew Brienne was no beauty, but her body was a work of art to him, and he knew and appreciated every hard curve and rigid scar.

“Jaime, you can watch from the surface if you like,” Brienne said as she slipped into the water.  “But the reef is 30 feet below.  It takes training to hold your breath that long.  I’m a little rusty, but I should be good for 5 minutes.”

Bronn nodded in agreement.

“How does one come about a skill such as this?” Tyrion asked.  “It sounds ridiculously difficult and useless.”

“It is sport here among the nobles,” Brienne said.

“And I figured it out real quick when I needed to fish deep or starve,” Bronn added.

“Sorry, I’ll just be quiet now.  Don’t drown - I don’t know how to sail the boat back.”  Tyrion replied.

Jaime followed Bronn and Brienne into the sea and watched from above while they dove down to the reef.  Once they were down to the bottom, they walked across the reef, moving in slow motion and gesturing to each other in some language of hand signals.   _ Perhaps this will be a hobby for my retirement, _ Jaime mused.  As time went by, he began to get nervous at how long they were staying down there.  He’d already had to catch his breath numerous times.  But the pair of them seemed completely at ease with no panic in their movements.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was really only the five minutes they had estimated, the two returned to the surface.  Each had a few fish skewered on their spears.  They all hung on the side of the boat to catch their breath.

“Gods, I haven’t done that in years,” Brienne said with a smile.  “It’s amazing down there, Jaime.  You will have to learn.”

“Once more, my lady?” Bronn asked after he had removed the fish from his spear.  “I think I can manage it.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

The pair dove down as Jaime watched again, but after only a minute they returned to the surface.

“Back to the boat,” Bronn grunted.

“What’s wrong?”  Jaime asked as they all climbed back in and Brienne and Bronn readied the ship.  Bronn’s face was expressionless, but the vigorous way in which he was pulling up anchor was concerning.

“Down, Jaime,” Brienne said as she swung the boom across the boat.  Jaime crouched down out of her way.  The sail caught the wind and the boat started charging through the water.

“Something big is in the water,” Brienne said, finally answering his question.

“Something big?”

“Aye, it scared the fish away, and the water temperature dropped.  It’s pulling in cold water from out in the ocean into the bay.”

Then the boat jolted as something huge swam beneath it. Tyrion finally sat up and looked out at the sea.

“Seven fucking hells,” he said in awe.

“What is it?  Shark? Whale?”

Tyrion swallowed dryly as a deep purple mantle crested through the water, twice the size of their sail boat.

“No… it’s a kraken.”  Tyrion turned to Bronn and Brienne.  “Get us to shore, as quick as you can.”

“Already on it,” Bronn said, and the sailboat began to move so fast that it skipped across the waves.  Just as they began to pull away from it, the kraken turned and started charging towards the boat.

“Bloody hells,” Bronn growled.  “Hold on to something!”

The kraken crashed into the starboard side, sending the boat flying across the surface of the sea.  Jaime barely hung on to the mast, Brienne at his side.  His eyes searched for Tyrion, and he saw his brother clinging to the posts beneath one of the seats.  Tentacles slapped over the sides of the boat.  They crashed into the seat above Tyrion, just missing him where he hid beneath.  One grasped the mast and started pulling.  Without even thinking, Jaime grabbed his spear and stabbed it deep into the slimy maroon skin.  The mantle thrashed angrily in the water and the tentacles withdrew just long enough for the boat to skip away.  As they escaped, Jaime saw one enormous eye roll out of the water and look at them.

“Have you ever seen a kraken here, my lady?” Tyrion asked breathlessly as they raced away.

“Never.  I thought they were a myth.”

“We need to alert the dockmaster so he can warn the other ships.  ”

Bronn watched the kraken fall further back.  “I’ve heard of sightings south of Dorne, but never off the coast of Westeros.”

“Iron Islanders like to say they have kraken in their waters, but they are all unsubstantiated claims.  They think because it is their sigil that they need to boast of having them,” Tyrion said then grew quiet in his own thoughts.

“My father was to take Vivienne to the beach today,” Brienne uttered, her voice quavering in her throat.

Jaime’s heart sank into his stomach, but he clenched his jaw, unwilling to alarm her.  “I will go straight there once we dock.”  He put his hand on top of hers.  “They are on the opposite side of the island, she is safe.”

Brienne nodded, and Jaime knew they were both pretending to believe it.

 

After they docked, Brienne went to warn the dockmaster and Jaime ran to the castle.  He was sure Vivienne was fine, but an irrational fear still gripped him.  Somehow, without even realizing it, he’d grown to love the little girl.

The beach that stretched along the shore below Evenfall Hall lay deserted.   _ What if they were pulled into the sea? _  He shook his head and ran to the waterline.  He was about to start calling for Vivienne like a fool, when he heard Bronn yell to him, his voice nearly lost in the wind.

“I found her!” he called with his hands cupped around his mouth.

_ Thank the gods. _

“She’s in the yard,” Bronn said as Jaime strode up to him.

The pair walked to the training yard and met Tyrion on the way.

“Is she alright, Jaime?” he asked, concerned.

“Yes.  Apparently she’s in the practice yard.”

“Ah, of course.  Where else would the daughter of Brienne be?” Tyrion said.

When they reached the yard, the Master-at-Arms was just putting a tiny wooden sword away.  The Evenstar was there, tossing Vivienne up into the air as she squealed in delight.

“Your daughter is big as a mountain and fights like the Hound.  But in the Evenstar’s arms she looks as small as a leaf blowing in the wind,” the Master-at-Arms said as he approached Jaime.

His words gave Jaime pause for a moment, but then he smiled to the man.  “Thank you, Ser Jorik.  I think some of my daughter’s first words will be about swordplay with you, she loves it so much.”  Vivienne had yet to speak, but Jaime was not concerned.  There was intelligence in her eyes, and since he and Brienne did not know exactly how old she was, who could say if she was delayed in speech?

Just then, one of the maester’s boys approached and bowed to Tyrion.

“My Lord Hand, the maester sent me to inform you that the Queen commands you return to King’s Landing at once.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed.  “Did she say why?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Alright,” Tyrion said.  “My lady, Jaime, thank you for your hospitality.  I apologize that my visit is cut short.”

“You’re welcome.  I hope nothing is amiss,” Brienne said.

Tyrion forced a smile.  “When ruling seven kingdoms, there is always something amiss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if I butchered Westerosi politics here. Or spearfishing, or sailing. I did some very limited research on both, but I've never done either!
> 
> Also, I'm trying to lay out some foreshadowing on the different plot lines. As always, I love to hear any critiques, comments, or questions :)


	6. Mother's Intuition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime POV

**Mother’s Intuition**

 

The hour was late before Brienne and Jaime finally retired to their room.  They had eaten a hasty dinner only an hour ago, most of their evening being dedicated to securing the island in response to the kraken.  The dockmaster had ordered the lighthouse to call in all the fishing vessels, and ravens had been sent to the mainland and off to the far shores of Essos to warn distant ships of the monster that lurked in the waters of Tarth.

Brienne had a sour look on her face.  The disgruntled furrow between her eyebrows had returned in full force and her movements around their room were deliberate and precise.   _My wife is preparing for battle  Against what, I do not know._

“How about some wine before bed?” Jaime asked tentatively, hoping to calm his wife’s nerves.

Brienne stood naked before him before slipping into her nightgown.  She shook her head in refusal.

“Brienne, Vivienne is fine.  Tarth is safe.  Not a single life was lost today.  Every fishing boat is accounted for.”  He stepped to her side and put a hand on her back.  “What’s troubling you?”

“Tyrion knows.”

“He does,” Jaime sighed.  “I did not mean to tell him, but he is perceptive.  He figured it out.”

“And who will Tyrion tell?”

“No one, I swear it.  He is my brother.”

Brienne nodded and turned into him, her curves nestling against his body.  “I’m sorry.  I’m just scared.”  Her voice was even, but the admission spurred Jaime to take her face in his hand and kiss her as he tried to will away her fear.

“Gods, I love you, Jaime,” she sighed against his lips as her hands reached around and grabbed his hips, pulling him close.  His cock was hard against her belly and his breath caught in his throat.  She pressed her lips to his and deepened the kiss, her tongue touching his with a sweet demand.

He ran his fingers into her hair and groaned agaisnt her lips in response, and they laid back on the bed together with Brienne straddled across his hips.  He ran his hands up her sides and she undid his laces, and she pushed the fabric down with a practiced surety.  Then his cock was in her hands as she stroked his shaft and massaged his balls.

“Brienne, oh gods, I love you,” he moaned as she lowered her mouth and took his cock into it.  Her one hand worked his shaft as her other played with his balls.  She was suddenly determined to undo him, and he threw his head back in submission.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.”  He pulled himself away from her and dragged her up to meet his lips.  Her thighs nestled around him as he drove himself deep into her in one desperate thrust.  She gasped in pleasure and ground into him as he groaned and spilled his seed deep inside her.  Her hips pounded against him with demand and he flicked his thumb against her sex.  That was enough to push her over the edge.  She cried out and shuddered against him, then closed her eyes as her release ebbed through her.  Their lips met in a needy kiss, hands caressing skin and tongues exploring mouths as she collapsed against his chest.  He swore their hearts beat as one as they lay together, catching their breath.

“Mmm, that was nice,” he mumbled against her temple.

“Yes,” she murmured as she turned over and wiggled her back into him.  He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her close.  In that moment, there was nothing more in life that he could possibly want.  Then he began to dream.

 

_Brienne was gone, Vivienne was missing.  He was on a hillside, at such an elevation that the grass began to give way to stones beneath his feet.  Above him loomed an ominous mountain.  The stone was dark grey and sharp, with jagged pieces jutting out that looked as if they could break off at any moment.  Storm clouds churned around its peak and a thick yellow haze hung in the air.  It was like something out of one of the seven hells._

_“Brienne!” he screamed desperately, his voice raw in his throat.  When he sucked down another breath of air it burned like fire in his lungs.  He coughed and retched, then stumbled forward up the path.  The air stung his eyes, his own tears clouding his vision._

_“Brienne,” he said, but this time his voice was not as strong.  He stumbled, scraping his hands on the rocks._

_“Jaime-” a voice croaked.  Through the haze he saw Brienne collapsed on an outcropping of stone.  “Jaime, you must climb the mountain.  She is on the mountain.  I cannot reach her.”_

_“Go,” he said and hauled her massive body upright.  His muscles burned from the effort.  “Go back, Brienne.”_

_“I cannot leave you,” she protested, barely able to support her own weight._

_“Go! I will not lose both of you to this hell.  I command it.”_

_Brienne looked at him with disbelief in her eyes, but then she obeyed and began to limp down the mountainside._

_Jaime continued up the path until he reached the mouth of a cave._

_“Vivienne!” he screamed.  “Vivienne!”_

_“Daddy!” an echo babbled back._

_“Vivienne, I’m coming to get you.”  He was so weak he could barely walk, falling to all fours to crawl deeper into the cave.  The rocky floor cut his knees and the palms of his hands.  Warm blood soaked through his clothes.  Everywhere, everywhere - even in places that could not possibly be cut.  His stump ached._

_Stump? But I should have two hands, he thought dreamily._

_“Daddy,” Vivienne said again as the path before him opened up into a round room.  He was in the White Sword Tower, and Vivienne was holding the White Book in her chubby hands.  Her back was too him._

_“Gods, daughter.  You will be the death of me,” Jaime said in relief as he began to move to her, arms open to scoop her up._

_“Daddy,” she said again as an enormous black shadow emerged from the wall._

_“No!” Jaime cried as he pulled out his sword.  “Leave her alone!”_

_The shadow paid him no mind.  It only lumbered across the room to Vivienne, who stood waiting for it.  Then his little girl disappeared into the inky blackness._

 

_No!_

Jaime woke and shot upright in bed.  His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt like he was about to go to war.  Brienne rumbled in her sleep next to him as he slowly caught his breath.  He knew he’d had a nightmare - he was no stranger to them, or to Brienne’s.  But he had not had one since he’d been on Tarth.  He’d thought himself rid of them, but apparently that had only been wishful thinking.  He rolled onto his side to spoon himself against Brienne’s back and closed his eyes as he slid his stump around her waist in an attempt to fall back asleep.

_But I only had one hand._

He tried to shake the thought, but sleep would not come.   _Brienne is safe beside me, in my arms.  I have nothing to fear..._

_Vivienne._

Without thinking, and perhaps against his own logical will, he sprang out of bed and lashed his sword around his waist.  Oblivious, Brienne snored in the bed as he sprinted from the room and raced up the stone steps to Vivienne’s room.  His blood surged in him, his adrenaline charged up to the level that it had reached during the Long Night.  He ran past a dozing guard then rounded a corner before ramming into the door of her room, sending it flying against the opposite wall with a crash.

He gasped for breath as his heart thudded in his chest, his left had on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight.

Vivienne was asleep in her bed, her wispy blonde hair fluffed about her angelic face.  She was so content, Jaime felt ashamed that he could have disturbed her peaceful slumber.   _By the gods, she is cute little thing._

He entered her room on tiptoes and looked in every corner and behind every piece of furniture.  Then he leaned out the window and looked around.  What he expected to find he could not say, but it made him feel better to look.

Once he was satisfied that there was no monster beneath his daughter's bed, he crept back out and closed the door behind him.  He was tempted to kiss the girl on the forehead, but he dared not wake her.  Apparently, waking a sleeping child was a grievous sin, according to Brienne.

He crept back down the steps and to Brienne’s bed, then shortly fell to sleep.

 

No One watched the door close and then lowered herself back onto the windowsill.  A fire burned low in the hearth, casting a flickering orange glow across the room, but otherwise the room was bathed in shadows.  No One liked the dark.  It kept her hidden, secret and safe.

The blonde child asleep in bed looked so innocent, but the other children had been innocent as well.  It had not saved them, so why should it save her.  And only death pays for death.  She knew this to be true.  But should the child pay for her father’s sins?  He had left a trail of suffering in the wake of his life.  A child’s life for a child’s life - it is what the Many-Faced God would want.

_What do we say to the God of Death?_

As No One watched from her perch, the girl suddenly rolled over and looked her square in the eye.  The babe did not shriek nor cry out, but only watched her with inquisitive, evaluating eyes.  Eyes that reminded No One of the girl’s uncle.  A good man, a redeemed man.  No One reluctantly turned away from the window and scaled back down the castle wall.

_Not today._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I had a glass or two of wine and banged out this chapter, and I couldn't not post it. I'm so sorry if there are typos - I will proof read this tomorrow and fix them! Thank you so much for reading!


	7. What's in the Box?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV

**What’s in the Box**

 

“We have not seen the Queen in days.  She’s shut herself away in her chambers,” Varys murmured as he led Tyrion to the throne room.  The place was deserted except for a pair of Unsullied guards who stood uncomfortably at either side of the empty throne.

“Has she taken any food or water?” Tyrion asked before the painful realization that he sounded like a concerned spouse.  His concern should be for the realm.

“I do not know.  Even Missandei has been unable to reach her.”  Varys glided over to a table on which sat a wooden box, finely crafted from driftwood and black metal.  The eunuch could have just told him what was in it, but Varys had a flair for the dramatic.  Tyrion squinted at the sigil burned into the lid.  The Kraken of House Greyjoy.

“Yara?”

“I’m afraid not.  Yara left only a week ago, and her ships have barely rounded the tip of Dorne.  This is from her uncle.”

Tyrion’s blood ran cold.  “Euron?”  It was then that Tyrion noticed the box would be the perfect size to hold a coconut, or a melon.   _ Or a human head. _

“What’s in the box?” Tyrion asked.  He clasped his hands behind his back, squared his shoulders and steeled his nerves.   _ Whatever it is, it has upset Daenerys so much that she has locked herself away in her room for days. _

Varys opened the box.

A blackened head stared up at him, or would have if it’s eyelids were not melted closed.  Even with the hair burned away, Tyrion recognized him at once.  “Daario.”

“Yes, it’s rather unfortunate. The Queen is wracked with guilt because she left him behind.  It was at your advice, I believe, was it not?  But how else could you have counseled her - it would have been extremely foolish for her to take a lover with her to Westeros.”  Varys’ words were heavy with implication.

Tyrion felt sick.  “Gods… why does he look like that?”  Daario’s skin shone like a well-polished stone, and he looked hardened, as if he could crack in two at any time.  He looked like obsidian.  “No…”   _ Dragon flame. _

“My sources tell me Euron Greyjoy took Meereen with little resistance.  He flew in on Rhaegal’s back, and the citizens thought it was their Dragon Queen returned.  By the time they realized it was not Daenerys, it was too late.”

_ Daenerys must hate me. _

“My Lord Hand,” Varys prodded.  “Surely, this is a threat.  We must prepare the city for attack.”

_ I told her to leave him behind, that to have a lover was a foolish thing, and then I stepped into his place.   _ He’d done it without even realizing it.

Varys put a hand on his shoulder, finally showing an ounce of compassion.  He dropped his voice to a whisper.  “I’m sorry - there are ears everywhere.”  He glanced around the room, then returned his voice to a normal volume.  “The Queen is delirious with grief.  You must defend Westeros in her stead.”

_ Of course she is, she’s lost a lover and a dragon. _

Tyrion’s sorrow suddenly gave way to rage.  “We cannot let him make landfall.  We will meet him in the open sea.  If he reaches the shores of Westeros with a dragon under his command, thousands will die before we can end it.  Ready the fleet.  I need a location on him - make yourself useful, Lord Varys.”

“Will you call upon the North for aid?”

Tyrion thought about it for a moment.  “King” Jon had bent the knee to Daenerys, as promised, when Tyrion returned from his second voyage to Valyria and the Long Night was won.  But the act appeared to be only one of formality so far.  The northern lords still called him King in the North, and so far Daenerys had not flexed her authority over him.  The North was still rebuilding from the winter.  Tyrion advised her to aid in the rebuild but to otherwise let the North lick its wounds.  In truth, he actually prefered the separation of power.   _ Seven Kingdoms is too much for one man or woman to rule. _

“I will not.  There is nothing they can do anyway.  But send a raven to King Jon to keep him informed.”

“ _ King _ Jon?”

“Jon Snow. Stark, Targaryen, whatever.”

Varys smiled at him.  “As you command, my Lord Hand.”  He paused, then asked, “Will you visit the Queen?”

“I’m not sure… but I think it is best for the realm if I were to remain among the living for the moment.”

Tyrion headed to the Tower of the Hand and sent for Bronn.

Little time had passed before Bronn knocked at his office door, walking in as he did so.

“So, what’s got your Queen all hysterical?”

“Oh, nothing, Euron Greyjoy  just sent her her former lover’s head burned in dragonfire.”

“Women,” Bronn said simply in his usual sarcastic tone, but he had nothing else to add.  The sellsword was even more taciturn than usual.  If Tyrion did not have a million other things to think about, he would have asked him why.  Instead, he moved on to the next matter of business.

“Bronn, I need you to do something for me which requires the utmost discretion.  I want you to go down to the brothel district and inquire about a one-eared whore.”

“Got a new kink, have we?”

Tyrion gave a mirthless laugh.  “No, I just need to know who her clients were.”

Bronn shrugged.  “Alright, I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

 

Bronn had yet to return when Tyrion retired to bed for the evening.  His rooms in the Tower of the Hand were well-appointed but minimal.  Gone were the garish red and gold draperies and cloths of his father’s time as Hand.  With a low fire smoldering in the hearth, Tyrion lit a lone candle next to his bed and began to read about the Dance of the Dragons.  He needed to research dragon versus dragon combat, and quickly.  They would leave as soon as Varys determined Euron’s location, which would hopefully be in the next few days.  The further from the shores of Westeros, the better.

From the descriptions he read, it seemed it would be... prudent for a rider to stay on the ground.  The fights were ferocious and included aerial acrobatics that made Tyrion’s head spin.  But the stories led him to believe that they battled with riders on their backs.  Perhaps Drogon would be large enough to protect Daenerys during battle, but Tyrion knew Viserion was too small.  She and Rhaegal were nearly the same size; he would be dead at the first impact, and Daenerys needed to remain in King’s Landing in case things went poorly.  He could not risk her life.

His eyes grew heavy as he read on and on, and soon his head was bobbing.  He wanted to get out of bed and stretch his legs in order to stay awake and continue his research, but he could not will himself to do it.  The urge to sleep finally overcame him, and he turned onto his side, his book forgotten.  He wondered what Daenerys was doing as he clutched a pillow to his chest and fell asleep.

 

Tyrion awoke some time later, perhaps minutes or perhaps hours, and it was as if he was dreaming.  Daenerys glided into the room in a flowing gown that was translucent and showed her womanly shape.  She sat on the edge of the bed, and when it creaked and lowered beneath her weight, Tyrion acknowledged that this was no dream.

He pushed himself up, trying to figure out if he was dreaming or awake.  She wore a sheer sleeveless nightgown that wisped about as if rustled by some ethereal breeze.  When he went to speak, she leaned over him and silenced him with a kiss.  Nothing more than her soft lips pressed against his.  But he never knew when to be quiet.

“Daenerys, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I make my own choices,” she replied.  “I chose to leave him behind.  If I would have loved him, my choice would have been different.”

Tyrion swallowed dryly, his heart thudding in his chest.  “And Rhaegal…”

“Makes his own choices as well,” she said with a wavering voice.  The betrayal hurt her the most.

_ A child turning on his parent may be the most painful of all deceits.  I should have realized, _ Tyrion thought as he saw his father’s face, with a guilt that seemed as if it were from another lifetime.  He returned his thoughts to the present.

Daenerys slipped her gown from her shoulders, first from one and then the other, with her breath coming fast and unsteady.  Her face was a wash of shyness and something else, something he did not think he’d ever seen in a woman’s eyes before.  She put her hands on his and he couldn’t help but look at her breasts, full and white in the dim light, tipped by rosy pink nipples that were already taut from being exposed to the cool air.

She took his hands and placed them on her chest then held them clutched in her own.  Her heart fluttered beneath his fingers, and he felt his breath quicken, audible in the silent room.  Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his once more, this time with more demand.  As she leaned into him, he opened his mouth to her and slipped an arm around her waist.  She rid him of his nightshirt and then her breasts were against his bare skin, pert nipples and soft skin.  His cock ached and his breath was suddenly ragged as he looked into her eyes.

Since the beginning, their lovemaking had been fast and furious, with her often riding him to her completion as he bounced on the bed beneath her.  It was loud and demanding, with one ultimate goal in mind, pleasure.  To Tyrion, she’d always been some perfect mix of the Warrior and the Mother.  But tonight was different.  Tonight, she was the Maiden, trembling with her heart laid bare before him.

He rolled her onto her back and slid his hands up her legs.

Her knees bent up in response, cradling around his hips, then she spoke.

“I love you.”  Her voice was hauntingly sweet and her admission made his heart seize in his chest.

“Gods, Daenerys,” he said, his voice unsteady and raw, “As I love you.”  They were only man and woman in that moment.  She could have been a tavern wench or a Queen, he a dwarf or a giant from beyond the Wall, it mattered not.

Then she took his face into her hands and kissed him.  He trailed his lips down her neck and kissed her breasts reverently, then took a nipple to his mouth and suckled.  Her hands ran through his hair as she gasped and sighed, her hips bucking up beneath him.  Soon she was rubbing against him and panting as she reached her peak.  “Oh gods, Tyrion, I want you inside me, please,” she begged, then pushed down his breeches.

He sank into her and spilled his seed after only a few thrusts.  He groaned into her neck as he came, then propped himself up to look into her eyes, the violet of a deep sunset.

“Don’t leave me,” she said.

“I must.”

“I know, just… do not ever  _ leave  _ me.”

Then Tyrion grasped her meaning.   _ She is afraid to love again. _  “I won’t, I will return to you.  I will never leave you.”

She seemed satisfied with his answer as she rolled onto her side and nestled into him.  He put his arms around her and helped her slip her gown off, then he kicked his own breeches down off his stunted legs.   _ Upon a dragon’s back or in my Queen’s arms, I feel no different than any other man.   _ He hoped he could keep his promise to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm in my cups again, lol. And by that I mean I had a glass or two of wine. I will proofread tomorrow. This chapter was mostly done anyway :D Next chapter will be Bronn POV.
> 
> Again, thanks so much for reading and for the feedback! I'm very grateful!


	8. The Sellsword

**The Sellsword**

 

Bronn stepped out into the cool night air.  Shoots of tulips and other spring flowers filled the gardens and the sky lay cloudless and dusted with stars, but not a soul was there to enjoy it.  The Keep was eerily quiet.  A Lannister man had told him everyone was staying away from court, afraid that Queen Daenerys was losing her mind.  Many of the highborn yet remembered the reign of the Mad King, and none wanted to be the first victim.

The guards stood at attention as he left.

“Ser Bronn, do you require a City Watch detail this evening?”

“Nah, just going out for a drink or two,” Bronn replied and nodded to the young men.

 

He walked along the finely cobbled street leading away from the Red Keep for a time, then, with a glance over his shoulder, veered left and wove his way through the dirt streets of Flea Bottom.  He wore his old boiled leathers and travel-worn boots, speckled with dark spots of blood.  One in particular he swore was from Ser Vardis, the knight he had killed in Tyrion’s trial by combat in the Eyrie.  No Lannister colors decorated his chest, but half a dozen daggers lay hidden on his body.

Flea Bottom bustled with evening activity.  Children ran barefoot in the streets, old women beat dirty rugs out their windows, and men hauled delivery carts down the roads.  It was rare to see a horse-drawn cart in this area of the city.  Horses were too expensive so it was the men who acted as the beasts of burden here.

A dirt-faced boy darted into Bronn’s path.  The lad was not looking where he was going and ran straight into Bronn.  The boy looked up at him, and when he saw the manner of man he had just run into, his cherubic expression melted with fear.

“Griffon!” a woman yelled and grabbed the boy by the arm.  She tugged him away from Bronn and swatted him on the bottom, hard, then one more time for good measure.  She was young, barely more than a child herself and just  as terrified of Bronn as her son was.  Bronn watched her drag the boy away.  The kid looked innocent enough, but how long would it be before he was sticking knives into people in the night?   _ About twelve, I’d wager. _

He emerged on the other side of Flea Bottom and onto the Street of Silk.  Here, the road was paved and lined by well-kept buildings paid for by the money earned between a woman’s thighs.  The whores here were upscale, and for the most part remained hidden away behind the silken curtains of their places of business.  They rarely flaunted themselves on the streets as the common whores of Flea Bottom did.

He arrived at his destination; a small tavern that lined the square around the Old Gate.  The place bustled with patrons; it’s prime location made it a hotspot for travelers just entering the city.  Bronn ordered an ale at the bar, then wove his way through the crowd and slid into a table in the corner, then blew out the half-melted candle.

 

Before long, a tall, wiry man slid into the seat across from him.  He was clean-shaven and dressed in the cheapest of finery - the typical uniform of an upscale brothel employee.

“Drink?” Bronn asked.

“Not tonight, I’m working,” the man replied.

“So am I.  That doesn’t stop me,” Bronn said and took a sip of his ale.

“I understand you need some information,” the man said and crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap.  “And that someone is willing to pay handsomely for it.  I can only assume it’s some rich lord’s jealous wife.”

_ The little prick has no clue.   _ “I’d say that’s a fair guess.”  Bronn tossed a sack of coins onto the table.  They landed with a muted thunk.  “You ever seen a one-eared whore?”

The man smirked.  “Is this the opening line to a joke?”  But his glanced around then leaned in closer.  “I’ve seen one.  Though it’s been awhile.  She worked at Chataya’s.”

“Who were her clients?”

The man shrugged his sharp shoulders.  “She was a popular girl, though I think there was one man in particular...”

Bronn rolled his eyes, then tossed the second bag of coins on the table.  The man was smarter than he looked.

The man smiled, his lips curving into a thin line as he pulled the coin purse towards him.  “As I was saying, it’s a rather well known story in our circle, simply for the fact that it is so unsavory.  The poor girl attracted the attention of one man in particular - a huge, monstrous man.  When he came to Chataya’s, we made ourselves scarce - even Lord Baelish would disappear.  This man became possessive of her in the last few months she was here and would allow no other man to see her.”

Bronn was still unimpressed, only half-listening, and wished he would hurry it up.  _ I’ve got other business to see to tonight _ .

“Her patron became, shall we say, overzealous.  Their encounters turned more and more violent, until finally one night he bit off her ear.  Lord Baelish could not in good conscience keep the girl around, especially in her delicate condition.”

Bronn had grown bored of the story.  “Alright, who was it?”

The man leaned forward and spoke a name.

“You sure?” Bronn asked.

The man simply nodded.

Bronn leaned back in his chair and frowned.  “Well, fuck me.”

 

Bronn felt a heavy weight on his shoulders when he finally left the tavern and made his way across the city to the harbor.  The oppressive feeling stuck with him as he moved through the darkness of night, taking side streets and doubling back on his tracks to ensure he was not being followed.  After all this time, he doubted it, but one could never be too sure.   _ Is it the news I just got that has my legs so heavy?  Or is it my conscience?   _ He’d not felt his conscience in years, not until the Lannisters made him soft.  He could not afford to be soft in this world.   _ And if that whelp is really the daughter of that madman, I’ll be doing Westeros a favor. _

He stepped onto the gangplank of a double-masted cutter.  She looked sleek and fast and the deck beneath his feet felt like freedom.  Bronn had seen just how quickly titles and lands and lordships could be taken away on the whims of kings and queens.  Tyrion, Jaime, even he himself had lost lands and titles and cloaks.  He’d had a castle and a betrothed once, only to be dragged back out into the fray with the promise of a bigger castle and better wife in return for his services.  He had no doubt that if he asked Tyrion for it, he would give it to him.  A Lannister always paid his fucking debts.   _ But then what?  There is a change in the wind and I lose it all? _  Now a ship, that was something real, tangible, and he would die fighting before someone took it from him.   _  They will be found out eventually, anyway.  Better now than later. _

Two guardsmen in the colors of House Buckler met him on the deck.

“Evening, boys,” Bronn said and set his face to sarcastic indifference.

“Weapons,” one commanded gruffly.

Bronn rolled his eyes but undid his sword belt, then handed over two of his daggers.

The silent guard patted him down, but did a piss poor job of it, missing the other four daggers he had hidden on his person.

“This way.”  The guards led him below deck to the captain’s quarters.  One knocked on the door.  A curt voice commanded them to enter.

Bronn walked in and saw a portly red-faced man sitting at the desk.  A candle burned and documents laid spread out before him.  He finished signing one, then put down his quill.  “Leave us,” he commanded.  The guards bowed to him and stepped out.

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater,” he said slowly, as if he were savoring every word.  “Quite a night that was.  I was there, you know, but on the opposite side of the battlefield.  Now we have managed to kill all five of those kings, and a Queen sits the Iron Throne.”

Bronn pulled out a chair and sat down.  “Aye.  If you’ve got some ale, I’ll sit here and talk war stories with you all night, but that’s not why you brought me here.”

Buckler smirked.  “I want Tarth.  I hear you have some information that would be useful to me in obtaining it.”

Bronn folded his hands.  “Is this the ship?”

“If you give me what I want.  I have the docking papers and trading licences for the free cities as well.”  It was an easy thing to say, but Bronn found the words sticking in his throat.  He cleared it and Buckler looked at him expectantly.  “Unless you have nothing.  Then my guards kill you and make it look like you drowned in the bay.”

“The girl’s not her daughter,” he said.

Buckler’s eyebrows raised, then he leaned forward on his elbows, clearly interested.  “You mean Vivienne of Tarth?”

“Aye.  She’s some orphan, picked up in the north by Brienne and Jaime Lannister after the war.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They say Brienne cannot bear a child.  Never has.”

Buckler steepled his fingers beneath his chin and thought about that.  “And if a Maester examines her, would he be able to confirm this?”

“He would.”

A smile bloomed on Buckler’s face, and it made Bronn want to punch him in his cocksucking mouth.   _ Don’t do anything stupid, you’re almost done. _

“Well, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.  I think this has turned out to be quite the beneficial transaction for both of us.  If I find out you lied, I will have nothing better to do than to hunt you down and take back this ship.  Easy enough, since I procured your papers for you.”

“You won’t have to do that.”  Bronn rose from his chair and the guards saw him out.

It was a warm spring night, but as Bronn walked back to the Red Keep, an icy chill found him, like a knife in his gut, and he wondered if it was really true, if they would always pay their debts.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Petyr leaned back in a chair at his old desk in his office at Chataya’s.  He’d left and Eyrie for a brief trip to King’s Landing, to pay his respects to the Queen.  Unfortunately, she had closed herself up in her rooms, something he had known.  Now he also knew why.  Then his man knocked on the door.

“Enter,” he said.

“Lord Baelish,” his man said then bowed.  He was a tall, scrawny fellow, much like a scarecrow.  He placed two bags of coins onto his desk.  Petyr was not interested in the money.  That was something he would never want for again.  He may have lost his bid for the North, but he had emerged unscathed and now ruled the Vale through Robert Arryn.

“Was it him?”

“Yes, my Lord.  It was Bronn.”

“Ah.”  Tyrion’s greasy sellsword - he’d expected as much.  “And what did he want?”

The man frowned.  “He wanted to know who Sen’s clients were.”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“She worked for you at Chataya’s… you sent her away when-”

“Oh yes, when Ser Gregor Clegane bit off her ear.”  Interesting.   _ Tyrion, why could you possibly want to know that? _  Maybe Tyrion had patronized the girl as well, but if rumor was true, he was settling between the Dragon Queen’s thighs at night and had not been to a whore house in years.  “Thank you, that will be all.”  The man left and Petyr filed this information away in his photographic memory.  He always remembered everything, but he had a feeling that this in particular would turn out to be very useful, he just needed to figure out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was enjoyable. It was not a POV I found easy to write at all, and I know things are taking a downward turn here, but yeah, this is why I can't have anything nice!
> 
> As far as Bronn is concerned - I love that guy, and I will be so so so upset if he betrays Jaime and Tyrion. But it's necessary for my story, and his role here is not over yet, so stick with me please!


	9. A Sea of Blood and Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and continued interest in this story! I only have two more chapters to post, and I am going to try to get them out quickly. I apologize as I have lost some ambition for this fic, but it will be finished, and it does have an ending :)
> 
> In other more optimistic news, I have some plotless (mostly) platonic boner stories in the works for the June JB Online prompt :D

**A Sea of Blood and Smoke**

 

“Wild evening?” Tyrion asked as Bronn sauntered into his office in the Tower of the Hand.  He’d expected to hear from Bronn last night, but the guards did not mark his return until well into the morning hours, and Bronn definitely looked as if he had not slept.  His hair was straggly and he had bags beneath his eyes.  “I have juice from the Summer Isles.  It works wonders.”  Tyrion gestured for him to sit.  “So, were you able to learn anything?”

Bronn sunk into the chair chair across from him and ran a hand through his hair.  “Well, a girl who used to work at Chataya’s had one ear.”

“Used to?”

“Used to.”  Bronn leaned forward and poured himself a glass of juice.  He gingerly took a sip then continued.  “Littlefinger sent her away.”

“And why is that?” Tyrion prodded.  He was not used to Bronn being so dramatic, and he tried to control the urgency in his voice.

“Gregor Clegane - he got to aggressive with the girl.”

Tyrion’s felt a cold stab of fear in his chest.  His voice nearly died in his throat, but he forced out the next words, hoping Bronn did not notice.  “The Mountain was her patron?”

“Aye.  He’d let no one else see he.  Bit off her ear too.” Bronn said as he crossed his ankle over his opposite knee.  “So why did you want to find this girl?”

Tyrion’s throat felt like it was closing, and he could only think of Jaime.  His poor brother.   _  But we are not only the shadows of our fathers.  The girl may turn out nothing like him.   _ And the risk of anyone finding out was minimal since both her parents were dead, and no one but he and Jaime knew that the whore had only one ear, not even Brienne.  Then he realized Bronn had asked him a question.

“Pod had taken a fancy to her back in the day.  They crossed paths and his chivalrous nature caused him to want to save a damsel in distress.”

Bronn chortled into his juice then raised a hand to hold his head.  “The magic cock.  I still wonder what that little fucker did to those women.”

Tyrion chuckled on the outside, but inside he was weighing the pros and cons of telling Jaime about Vivienne’s true parentage.  What did it matter anymore?  The girl brought both his brother and his wife so much joy, perhaps it was best left a mystery.  And what would his beloved queen think of the offspring of the monster who had gored her niece and nephew upon the stones of the Red Keep and raped their mother as well?   _ No, this is best kept a secret. _

 

Around noon, word came that the Queen had emerged from her rooms and was requesting his presence in throne room.  He was surprised and slightly nervous.   _ Will I see the face of Aerys Targaryen when get there? _  It was a ridiculous fear, and yet he could not shake it.  He’d never questioned her sanity, but Aerys was supposedly sane in his youth.

He ambled down the circular staircase that descended the Tower of the Hand.  He stopped and peered into a dark room about halfway down the tower.  The lefthand wall had been recently patched by stonemasons, and the new white brick stood out like a scar against the older stone.  Ser Barristan had died in there, as well as the abomination that was Robert Strong, formerly Gregor Clegane.  Tyrion shivered as he recalled the day, still fresh in his mind.  If Jaime had not been there to pick up Selmy’s sword, Daenerys would be dead too, along with himself.  Daenerys had spared Jaime’s life, and it was lucky she had.

The throne room was open and fragrant, with incense burning and fine draperies billowing in the breeze that came through the open windows.  Daenerys sat on the throne and Varys stood at her side speaking quietly to her.  He jerked his head up when he heard Tyrion enter.

“Ah, Lord Hand, just the man we were speaking of.”  Varys gave a closed-mouth smile.

“My Queen,” Tyrion said and bowed before the steps.  Daenerys was bright-eyed and dressed in a crisp red gown with black leather accents.  Her hair and freshly scrubbed skin glowed, and she looked to be back to normal.   _ It’s a good start.  Now, let’s see what these two want. _

“My sources have located Euron’s host approximately one hundred leagues off the tip of Dorne.  I am readying the fleet as we speak.  Grey Worm is assembling his men.”

“Are the dragons ready?” Tyrion asked.

“That appears to be our only problem,” Varys said, then looked to Daenerys.

“Drogon will not let me ride,” Daenerys said, then pursed her lips and raised a brow, clearly irritated.  “He will come to me and let me touch him, but the moment I try to get on his back, he pulls away.”

“I don’t understand… has this happened before?” Tyrion asked, already mulling the consequences in his head.  If Daenerys could not ride, he would have to lead the dragons alone.

“Once, after we flew from the fighting pit.  But I am different person than I was then.  He will let me ride.”

Tyrion and Varys gave eachother a hesitant look, but Daenerys continued.

“My two closest advisors doubt me?”

“Never my Queen.  It’s just that, in your absence the people have begun to fear that…”  Tyrion fumbled for the right word.

“That I have gone mad?” she snapped, her voice echoing off the stone walls.  “I assure you, I am more whole now than I have ever been.  Lord Varys, tell my captains we leave in one hour.  Tyrion, come with me.”

 

She took him to the balcony outside her rooms where Drogon and Viserion lay basking in the sun.  Drogon’s massive brick of a head lay against Viserion’s sleeker skull.  The two had grown closer since Rhaegal’s departure.  Viserion trilled with happiness when she saw Tyrion approaching, and Drogon raised his glittering black head and swung it towards Daenerys.

Daenerys reached out her hand and stroked his face, and he let out a rumble that resembled the purr of a cat.

“I don’t understand.  He doesn’t appear to be upset with you,” Tyrion said.  He’d thought perhaps the beast was irritated with the Queen’s recent absence.

Daenerys gathered her skirts and went to climb up onto the black dragon’s back, and then things took a turn.  Drogon tried to shrug her off, and when she persisted, he swung his head at her and snapped his black teeth at her and his blood red eyes smoldered in his skull.  She jumped back and clutched at her chest.  Tyrion’s own heart thudded hard against his ribs.

“I am displeased with you, Drogon,” Daenerys uttered in a voice that wavered against her will.

“I will go alone,” Tyrion heard himself say.

Daenerys only nodded as she watched Drogon with unreadable eyes.

 

Mere hours later, Tyrion found himself leading two dragons into battle on the high seas.  What Euron was playing at was anyone’s guess, but Drogon charged ahead and laid waste to his fleet before Tyrion and Viserion were even within range.  Drogon hovered over the burning ships briefly, as if admiring his work.  He looked like a dark storm cloud looming in the sky.  Then, he spotted Rhaegal and descended on him with all the fury of the seven hells.

The first impact flung human figure from Rhaegal’s back.  At his distance, Tyrion could not see the face, but it must be Euron.  From that height, he would not survive the fall, even into the sea.  Tyrion shook his head at the foolishness of it all as he rubbed Viserion’s neck.  Now, all that remained was for Drogon to bring Rhaegal to submission.

As the dragons continued wheeling and crashing in the sky, however, Tyrion sensed something was wrong.  Drogon was nearly twice the size of Rhaegal, yet Rhaegal kept landing blows.  The little brother was quick and ruthless, and Drogon was holding back.  They climbed higher and higher into the sky, and Tyrion lost them in the clouds.

“Where are they?” he asked Viserion.  She shivered beneath him.

They a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the clouds and ricocheted off the water’s surface.  Drogon and Rhaegal fell through a cloud, entangled in one another, and a wave of nausea hit Tyrion.  Drogon’s belly was slashed open, from chest to pelvis, and when Rhaegal, sporting injuries of his own, kicked him away, Drogon’s giant head lolled back and his red eyes rolled in his head.

“No!” Tyrion yelled and Viserion screeched in shock.

She descended, and with a great shiver of her shoulders, she shook Tyrion off the side of her back.  He rolled haphazardly down one leathery wing until he splashed unceremoniously into the sea.  Then she beat her great vermilion wings, sending a percussion of thunder across the surface of the water, and she took off toward Rhaegal, and Tyrion found himself suddenly alone in the great vastness of the ocean.

Unlike Drogon, Viserion seemed to have no qualms about killing her little brother.   _ How very Cersei-esque of you, _ he thought with a chill as he watched Viserion soar up into the sky.  She came to a peak, then streamlined her body and dove in free fall at the injured Rhaegal.  He hovered low over the sea, his hot blood dripping into the water sending up plumes of steam around him.  He looked like a beast of nightmares, black teeth bared as he panted in the effort it took to just keep himself in the air.  Drogon floated in the ocean, his great black body rolling with the waves, his giant head submerged.  The dragon whom some believed to be Balerion reborn was dead.  Then Viserion crashed into Rhaegal and a horrific scream, a death knell, ripped from Rhaegal’s throat.  They both plunged beneath the waves, Rhaegal crumbled beneath his sister, and what followed was an eerie quiet in which a minute felt like a lifetime.

Then, a plume of bubbles broke the waves, like lava breaking the surface of the water.  Rhaegal’s corpse surfaced in a giant hiss of steam.  Viserion followed shortly, and she struggled to take flight.   _ The last living dragon, _ Tyrion thought in dismay.  He looked once more at the two corpses floating in the sea, and he was awestruck.  Two of the great wonders of the known world, both gone.  But one remained, and she rose above her brothers letting out an eerie lament.  She dropped down once to nudge at Drogon’s back.  Tears pricked at Tyrion’s eyes as she dipped beneath the waves and picked his massive head up out of the water in a lame attempt to wake him.  But she was smart, and only tried this once, knowing it futile.

Tyrion’s legs were just beginning to cramp from treading water for so long when a longboat appeared over the waves.  “Lord Hand!” a man called from the prow.  Tyrion flapped his arms, splashing the water’s surface to help them see him.  Soon a muscled arm grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him into the boat.  He flopped into the bottom.  No one spoke; they could all see the dead dragons bobbing in the waves.  Silence seemed to be the only proper response.

The  _ Black Dread _ had sent out all of its longboats to search the waves for him, in all different directions, and it took nearly an hour to row back.  Once he was finally on the dry, warm deck of pride of fleet, Grey Worm approached him.

“Where are Khaleesi’s dragons?” he said in his monotone voice.

Just then, Viserion dropped from the clouds and landed on the deck with a crash, sending men scattering in all directions.  She cried and heaved her body forward once, then turned her long, serpentine head to Tyrion.  “Oh gods…” Tyrion said and ambled over to where she lay.  Her left wing was battered and the leathery skin that normally stretched taut across it was ripped and limp.  She looked at him with eyes like that of a injured dog, looking to her master to help her.  He reached for her without hesitation and stroked the pebbled skin of her jaw.  “Make for King’s Landing.”  He did not know what to do for her, and he feared he would lose her too, when he remembered something.  “And send a raven to Winterfell.  I need Samwell Tarly.”


	10. Only Death Can Pay for Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After losing both Drogon and the turncloak Rhaegal in the battle with Euron Greyjoy, Tyrion returns to King's Landing with an injured Viserion.

**Only Death Can Pay for Life**

“Here hold this for me” Sam said and thrust a book into Tyrion’s arms. Sam eyes flicked back and forth from the tome as he put the first stitch into Viserion’s pale white wing.  He nodded slightly to himself and continued moving the needle in an out, stitching an intricate pattern into the leathery flesh.  The thread itself was strange, twinkling in the torchlight as if it were woven with some mineral.

“Gold,” Sam said when he saw Tyrion staring. “It was in the instructions.  Quite an expensive pet,” he laughed nervously.  Sweat beaded on his brow, and Tyrion himself was getting uncomfortably hot.  They were within the Red Keep in a large chamber that could house Viserion’s bulk.  Fires burned in every hearth to keep her as warm as possible.  Between the heat radiating of Viserion and the roaring fires, the room sweltered.

“Interesting,” Tyrion said as he feigned curiosity for Sam’s benefit.  He still could not relax, but in truth Viserion was in the best of hands.  Sam was a gifted Maester.  What he lacked in experience, he made up for in a studious dedication to the craft of healing both people and animals.  Even dragons.  In fact, his lack of experience potentially made him the best Maester to be treating dragons.  Sometimes what people thought they knew from experience was turned on its head by a new situation, such as a dragon’s anatomy, so Sam’s blank slate of a mind was ripe for knowledge.

After an hour of sewing, Sam finally tied off his last stitch and collapsed onto a chair in the corner of the room.  Viserion swung her long, slender head to him and pressed her jaw against his cheek.  Sam just raised a hand and limply stroked the dragon, too tired to even be afraid.  Tyrion smiled and pressed a his hand to Viserion’s side.  She looked distended and the skin across her ribs was tight and hard.

“Sam, her belly…”

“I know,” Sam huffed.  “I know.  I need to examine her for internal bleeding.  It’s the most likely cause.”

Tyrion thought Viserion looked well enough but let Sam do his job.  The fat Maester took a small device in the shape of a cone and listened intently at Viserion’s chest and then abdomen.

“Breath and bowel sounds are normal.  I will need to inspect her stool for blood.”

“Uhh,” Tyrion muttered then pointed south.  “They, er she, usually does her business in the Kingswood.”

“Ah, alright then.  Well it’s really just to do my due diligence.  She seems as healthy as can be.”  He palpated her lower belly as he spoke.  “But I do believe she is going to have a baby.”

“What?”

“I mean, she is going to lay eggs soon.  I can feel them in there.  It’s why her belly is so hard.”

A genuine smile spread across Tyrion’s face.  “Viserion, my girl, you should have told me.”  He stroked her neck affectionately  “I need to get you some bacon.  Come Sam, let me take you down for some breakfast.  I will be right back, my girl.”

Viserion trilled happily then rested her head across the top of Sam’s feet where he sat.  Sam smiled and ran a hand along the scales on the top of her head, and Tyrion wondered if the Citadel had a link for dragon care.

When Tyrion returned with a platter of bacon, he found Daenerys curled up in the hay with Viserion.  They both lay flopped on their sides, and Daenerys had her face burrowed into Vieserion’s chest.  The Queen had been inconsolable at the loss of Drogon and Rhaegal.  But Tyrion had watched her go through her sorrow in an appropriate way.  It would have been abnormal of her not to care.  The first night that Viserion came to her window without Drogon, Dany had cried for nearly an hour.  Viseron herself had gone through a depression at the loss of her only kin.

“Is that for me?” Daenerys asked as she sat up.  Inconsolable, but hungry as a horse.

“It is for both my ladies,” Tyrion said with a smile.  He placed the tray down on the floor next to them and watched as they devoured it together.

“Thank you, Lord Hand,” Dany murmured and pulled him down into the hay with her.  “I have need of you this afternoon.”  She kissed him and rubbed her hand along his cock which sprang to life at the touch.  Viserion snorted in admonishment.

“Of course, I would be remiss to disappoint my Queen.”

Once she and Viserion were done eating, he took Daenerys back to their rooms and before long she was naked and straddling his hips.  He brought her to completion just as he came.

“Tyrion,” she said and took his hands to her belly.  Her face was pale and her eyes locked on his.  “Viserion is not the only one who is carrying a child,”

“What?” Tyrion said and sat up beneath her.  “Are you sure?”

“I know that today I am pregnant.  The Maester says I am already five months along.”  She looked down at her belly and rubbed his hands over her skin, fingers intertwined.  “It is why Drogon would not let me ride him.  I regret the last words I spoke to him.”

“They are truly perceptive beasts,” Tyrion said and felt Daenerys’ belly jump.  “Are you alright, Daenerys?” he asked in a quieter tone.  So much pain was tied to childbirth for them… his mother, her mother, and the there was the babe she had lost to blood magic in the Dothraki Sea.  He knew that one scared her most of all, a misshapen babe that had died before he could take his first breath.   _ Or it could be a dwarf.  Would she be disappointed?  Would I? _

“I will be brave in this, whatever happens.”  And suddenly her face was that of a Targaryen Queen, a face that could inspire armies and tame dragons and bring kingdoms to heel.  He knew she would hold true to her word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally putting another chapter out! This thing is almost done. I went through a bout of writer's block and the new season has inspired me to bang out some stories :) Thank you for reading, and any feedback is appreciated. I know dragons dying is not the most wonderful thing to read about, but hopefully the end of the story makes up for it.


	11. A Small Wedding

**A Small Wedding**

 

It had been four months since Drogon’s corpse had washed up on the shores of Tarth.  Even Brienne, who was usually strong of stomach, had wretched at the sight.  He was bloated and covered in crabs, larger than any whale, and infinitely more heartbreaking.  Jaime had the skull cleaned and bleached, and would return Drogon’s head to the Red Keep to rest with his ancestors.  They would be in King’s Landing soon enough.  Tyrion had told him once that the only way he and Daenerys would wed would be if the Queen fell pregnant.  And that had apparently happened.

Jaime stood on the balcony outside the main hall of Evenfall.  A grey mist hung over the ocean and the dark stonework felt cold beneath his hands where he leaned on the rail.  For a week a tropical storm had battered the island, and today was the first day of calm seas.  Before long, a ship broke through the fog, flying Targaryen banners.  Then, shortly after he’d broken his fast, a royal scroll arrived.  Jaime took it from the Maester and brought it back to he and Brienne’s chambers to read.

“Is that it?” Brienne asked.  She was hunched over in the corner of their room, sharpening Oathkeeper with a furrow in her brow.

“It is.”  Jaime watched her hand move up and down the blade with precision.

“When will the wedding be?”

“A fortnight from now.”

Brienne nodded.  “Yes, before she is showing.”  He watched her lips purse as she tried to conceal whatever she was feeling.  Jaime went to her side and put a hand on her back.  For a reason he did not completely understand, Daenerys falling pregnant upset Brienne more than any other pregnancy announcement had.  And there had been many of them, what with winter over and prosperous peace upon the land.

“I love you,” Jaime said, at a loss for words.

“I’m fine,” Brienne said as she shrugged his hand away.  Then she softened.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just…” she began, then took a deep steadying breath and stood up.  “Knowing that the Queen in all her beauty and power could not bear a child made me feel better.  It made me feel like less of a failure.”

“Brienne, don’t say that,” Jaime began and tried to hug her.

She shook her head and sheathed Oathkeeper.  Marriage had not changed her need to bear some of her burdens alone.  “I need to go to the yards and bash someone around.”  For a moment, her face was hard as stone.  “And then, I’ll need food and a good fuck.”  She gave him a sidelong glance.

Jaime grinned.  “Well I’m no cook, but I can help you with the latter.”

Brienne gave him a little smile and left.

 

They sailed for King’s Landing a week later.  Vivienne loved the ocean much like her mother did, and ran around the ship swinging her wooden sword pretending to be a pirate.

“Fight them with me, Daddy!” she cried as she ran up to him breathlessly.  He stood on the bow watching as the ship navigated into Blackwater Bay.  Vivienne’s hair was all a mess and beneath the pretty dress Brienne had put her in for their arrival, she wore riding pants and boots that were still caked with mud from her last adventure.  She’d started talking a few months ago, and it had quickly progressed to full sentences.

“I’ve played pirates with you for days, Viv,” Jaime said and scooped the girl up.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“Look there,” he said and pointed.  “That’s the Dragon Pit.  It’s where Uncle Tyrion’s dragon lives.”  Though that was not really true anymore - since the death of the other two dragons, Tyrion told him that Viserion slept in the Red Keep.  He still could not really believe that Rhaegal and Drogon were gone.  But the skull in the hold of the ship told him otherwise.  Ever since the dragons had witnessed he and Brienne’s marriage in the Godswood of Winterfell, he’d had a soft spot in his heart for the beasts.  When Rhaegal went missing, he had hoped that perhaps the dragon would show up on Tarth, that it was all a misunderstanding and Rhaegal had only wanted to pay them a visit.  Rhaegal had finally found his rider, though, and it had led to the death of both him and his big brother.

“Dragon!” she squealed and Viserion swooped into view, skimming along the water past their ship.  Tyrion waved to them and Vivienne began to slap her hands against Jaime’s shoulders in excitement.

“Hello, little niece!” Tyrion called.  Then he turned back to the keep.  Viserion’s belly hung low and the dragon was not as quick as Jaime remembered, but she would be laying her eggs soon.

It was past supper when they were finally docked and to their rooms.  Food was sent up to them, and Vivienne ate with abandon as she usually did.  Jaime did not know if it was because food had been scarce for her before they found her or simply because she loved to eat.  Brienne washed the girl up for bed then let the nurse take her to sleep in the adjoining room next to there own.

That evening, while Brienne paid a visit to Daenerys, Jaime met Tyrion down in one of the large halls within the keep.  Tyrion waved him over to a table near the fire and thrust a cup of wine across to him.

“Don’t tell me you are getting cold feet?” Jaime said as he slid onto the bench across from him.  The wedding was to take place the next afternoon.

Tyrion smiled and shook his head.  “Never.  It’s good to see you, Jaime.  Thank you for bringing Drogon’s skull home.  It’s already resting in the Hall of Dragons.  I think it brought some closure to Dany.”

“Where is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?  I was hoping to find him down here with you.”

“Ser Bronn is a busy man, but he will be here for the wedding feast.”  Tyrion took a sip of his wine.  “And how is the Evenstar?  Despite first impressions, he seems to have embraced you as his son-by-law.”

“Lord Selwyn is well, but his traveling days are over.  He sends his congratulations.” Jaime looked down into his cup.  “Brienne is with Daenerys now.  Does she know about Vivienne?”

“No,” Tyrion asserted.  “I told you I would keep you secrets.”

“To be honest, I would not mind living out the rest of my days without ever stepping foot in this city again.  Nothing good ever seems to happen to me here.”

“Nor I.”  Tyrion raised his brows.  “But I am hoping to change that.”

 

The Sept of Baelor had been rebuilt due to popular demand but relocated to the oceanside.  Now a simple building of white stone, it’s entire westward side opened to the sea.  The floor consisted of packed dirt pathways between the pews with wildflowers and blooming trees springing up all around.  The only stone clad floor was the dais, on which rested an altar with the seven pointed star and a statue of the Mother, the only artifacts that identified it as a sept.  According to Tyrion, the Maesters were working on growing a weirwood per Daenerys’ request.  She wanted it to honor her nephew’s Old Gods as well.

Tyrion peeked down the aisle at the packed sept from behind Jaime’s legs.

“This is your idea of a small wedding?” he asked.

Varys shrugged innocently.  “The realm is finally at peace, and the houses great and small want to bear witness to this blessed event.”

“I fear the only thing small about this wedding is you, brother,” Jaime said, but his thoughts were on the two ladies, one large and one tiny, sitting in a pew halfway back from the dais.  Brienne’s shock of blonde hair towered over the other guests, like a lighthouse shining in a storm.  She’d allowed the maids to braid her hair, but that was all.  She’d declined the dress the royal dressmaker had sewn for her, claiming it did not fit.  Beside her was Vivienne.  She wore a summer dress and flowers in her hair, and Jaime’s chest clenched at the sight of them.   _ My girls.  I am a lucky man.   _ Brienne’s melancholy had melted away once they had reached King’s Landing and she’d met with Daenerys.  They had been fond of one another ever since their first meeting, when Daenerys had offered Brienne a position in her Queensguard.

“Did Lady Brienne not like the dress we had made for her?” Varys asked casually.

“She says it does not fit her well… she’s a bit picky about her clothing.”

“My apologizes, Ser Jaime.  I took the Lady’s measurements to the head dressmaker myself.  I will have a word with the staff.”

Jaime wasn’t sure that was necessary, as he was also certain that the measurements were correct.  He’d had a suit of armor crafted for her that fit her like a glove.  He suspected Brienne just did not like the frock.  Dresses were not really her style.  He smiled to himself then left Tyrion to take his seat with Brienne.

The ceremony was lovely, the Queen was surely radiant, but these things were lost on Jaime.  He cared little for royal affairs and even less for ceremony.  But he did care about his brother.  He walked down the aisle with a practiced gate, his head held high, shoulders even.  When his eyes settled on Daenerys, and tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth and his eyes lit up.  Jaime’s hand drifted over to Brienne’s leg and gave it a little squeeze and she covered his hand with her own.

 

Jaime’s family sat at the end of the high table, flanked by Ser Davos on one side and Sansa Stark on the other.  Sometimes Jaime wondered what had become of Arya Stark, and he had a strange feeling that Sansa knew the answer to that.  Behind them, standing like a looming shadow along the wall, was Sandor Clegane.  The Hound had pledged his sword to Sansa and had become her bodyguard.  He said little, just a grunt here or there, until another guard showed up and Sansa gave him his leave.  Then he was in his cups and bit more talkative.

“Kingslayer,” he growled from his perch near the foot of the high table.  Even though he had been relieved of his guard duty, he was unwilling to drift far from Sansa.

“Clegane,” Jaime nodded to him.  “I’ve heard tales of you in the Long Night.  Well fought.”

Sandor glowered and drained his cup.  “Aye, and you as well.  Now you have a wife and child, I hear.  That big bitch who bit off my ear.  I’d be careful not to anger your lady wife.  She is a beast.  She beat me.”

From anyone else, Jaime would have taken offense.  But the Hound spoke as one warrior would speak on another.  He did not see Brienne as a man or woman, just an opponent.  An opponent that had thrashed him to within an inch of his life.

“I will take care not to,” Jaime said and was about to leave when Sandor spoke again.  His words were beginning to slur.

“Tell me true, Kingslayer.  Where did you get the girl from?  Your pretty wife was not with child the last time I saw her.”

Jaime swallowed and tried to square his face.  “Vivienne is our daughter.”

“You think you’re so smart.”  The Hound snarled a laugh.  “That’s my brother’s get, there is no doubt.  You think I can’t tell?  That girl looks just like my sister did.”  He stood and stumbled closer to Jaime, his wine-soaked breath making Jaime recoil.  “I'll bet you found her with a one-eared whore, didn't you?  How do you think the whore lost the ear?  Aye, she made Littlefinger a lot of money off my brother, but she paid for it in the end.”

Jaime’s head began to spin.

“Don’t worry, Kingslayer, I’ll keep your little secret.”

_ No, that cannot be true. _

Then a commotion erupted across the hall.  Lord Buckler slammed his cup on his table and rose to his feet, goaded on by his men-at-arms.  He gave Jaime a look that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and then approached Daenerys at the high table.  His face was ruddy and his stride looked to be fueled by the liquid courage of ale.

“My Queen, as a loyal subject, I must tell you that a lie has been perpetrated against you.”

Jaime saw Tyrion stand and try to intercede, but Buckler just spoke over him.

“And what lie is that, Lord Buckler?” Daenerys asked.

“I have it on word of a close companion of the Lannisters that Vivienne of Tarth is not Lady Brienne’s blood born child.  The man is here, he will vouch for it.”  Buckler gestured to someone across the room and when Jaime followed his hand he looked into the eyes of Bronn.  The sellsword’s face was a grimace, and he began to edge out of the room.

“What’s worse, she is the child of Gregor Clegane, the war criminal, the man who murdered your brother’s wife and children.”

Daenerys’ face was expressionless until he spoke those last words.  “I know who the Mountain is, Lord Buckler.  You need not remind me.”

“Apologies, my Queen.  But I must demand that a Maester inspect the Lady Brienne.  He will find she has never bore a child.”

Jaime was already moving to Brienne and Vivienne.  Everything around him became background noise, a blur, a nightmare.  Tyrion was yelling at Buckler, Buckler’s men-at-arms were banging their cups on the tables.  Brienne’s jaw clenched and her face was red as she clutched Vivienne’s hand.

“Go to our rooms and bar the door,” he whispered then took off after Bronn.

 

Jaime sprinted after him, fueled by a white hot rage.  The sight of Brienne, ashamed and embarrassed, as Buckler called for a maester to examine her made Jaime so wroth that he could have gutted the man right there in front of his family, and the thought of his sweet wife having her privacy violated by some old maester made him rageful to the point of insanity.  Bronn had not gotten far, and Jaime was fast.  He caught up with Bronn and tackled him in a courtyard just as the sellsword was about to scale the garden wall.

“You deceitful fuck,” Jaime growled into his ear as he turned the man over and slammed his head into the ground.  Bronn’s skull hit the stone with a thunk.  
“Cut his throat, Jaime!” Tyrion screamed as he caught up to them, spittle flying from his lips.  “Cut the fucking bastard’s throat!”

“I trusted you,” Jaime said through gritted teeth, his left hand clench so tightly around his dagger that it hurt. 

“Never trust a sellsword,” Bronn said, but there was no malice in his voice.

“What a pathetic existence,” Tyrion spat.  His eyes were like dragonflame, fiery and penetrating as he came around to look Bronn in the face.  “All you ever cared about was padding your pockets with gold.”

“That’s an easy judgment for a rich man to pass,” Bronn replied.

“I trusted you,” Jaime repeated, this time more to himself than to Bronn. The blade began to dig into Bronn’s throat and a trickle of hot blood ran down his neck and over Jaime’s hand.

“Do it, Jaime, cut his throat or I will,” Tyrion said and pulled a dagger from his boot.  Tyrion smelled of wine, as did Bronn, and Jaime remembered that he had seen the two of them drinking together like old friends only moments before Buckler’s demand.  Tyrion counted Bronn among his closest of friends, and this betrayal must have struck him even harder than it did Jaime.   _ I should do as he says, I should kill this man.  He is the scum of the earth.  He betrayed my trust and has now put my wife and child in jeopardy. _

“Go on, then, Kingslayer,” Bronn said evenly.  Jaime looked into the man’s black eyes.   _ Black to match his soul.  But something lies beneath the surface - Fear?  Regret?   _ Memories of Bronn retraining him how to fight with his left and then watching his back in Dorne played in his mind.  At that time, Jaime would have sworn that the sellsword was doing it for more than the money.

The sound of the boots of the Gold Cloaks stomping down the hallway, mail clanking, echoed into the courtyard.  Something stayed Jaime’s hand, and, abruptly, he climbed off the Bronn and stepped back.  Bronn stood up and dusted himself off.  For the first time in a long time, Jaime noticed how thin and greasy his hair was, his crooked nose, his ruddy cheeks.  A scar sliced through his eyebrow.  The man suddenly looked every bit the mercenary, and Jaime wondered how he had ever let his guard down and allowed Bronn to weasel his way into their lives.

“Get out of here,” Jaime said.  He stood ready to restrain Tyrion, but his little brother remained at his side.

Bronn nodded to him and adjusted his belt.  “Aye, I will.”  And with that, Bronn scaled the garden wall and disappeared.

Jaime glanced at Tyrion, who gave him an unreadable look before walking over to meet the Gold Cloaks as they stormed in.

“Your Grace,” the captain said.  “What is your command?”

“Keep the peace.  And send me the captain of the Lannister guard.”

“Yes, your Grace,” the captain replied and led his men out.

“You should have killed him,” Tyrion said.  “But it does not matter now.  Go back to your room, gather up your wife and child as quickly as possible.  I will send Lannister men to escort you to the dock.  You must leave at once.”

“Thank you, brother,” Jaime said and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry this happened, Jaime, I should have known.  I feel like a fool.  Though some of the things he knew I did not tell him.”

“Eavesdropping is one of Bronn’s many talents, I suppose.”  It would do no good to berate Tyrion now.  “I will send a raven once we are home.”

Tyrion nodded glumly and Jaime clapped his shoulder then sprinted for his rooms with a sudden singular urge to punch Lord Buckler in the face until he was a bloody heap on the floor.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Brienne scooped Vivienne up and ran to their rooms.  She could hear the shouts of men behind her, following her.  She wanted to scream and cry and cut them down all at once.  But Vivienne needed her, so she did as Jaime said and barred the door.

“Mommy?” Vivienne whimpered once they were safely in their rooms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Brienne said and stroked the girl’s head.

The group led by Buckler arrived at the door and she could hear them talking amongst themselves.  Then someone banged on the door.

“Lady Brienne, the Maester is here.  You cannot stay in there forever.”  It was Lord Buckler speaking.  That was it.  She’d had enough.  She was going to kill them all.  Oathkeeper hung in its scabbard on a chair, and she went to grab it, but Vivienne clutched at her leg.

“Mommy, don’t leave me.”  The little girl clung to her like her life depended on it.

“I won’t,” Brienne said and took a breath.  She could not fight all those men without endangering herself or Vivienne.  But gods, she wanted to.  It was a horrible feeling.

Then, she heard Jaime’s voice outside.  There was some yelling followed by the thump of a body hitting the stones.

“Unbar the door, Brienne,” Jaime commanded.

She opened the door and saw that Lord Buckler was now a pile on the floor.  Jaime’s knuckles were covered in blood.

“I could have handled him,” Brienne said.

“Yes, I know.  We can talk about this later,” Jaime said in exasperation as he took Vivienne into his arms.  He guided Brienne out of the room, and she had to step over the bloodied Lord Buckler on the way out.  A group of spectators stood in the hall, and they quickly stepped aside for them, not wanting to tangle with Jaime after what they had just seen.

“I should have handled him,” Brienne said again.  The shame and fear were nearly crippling her.

“We can talk on the voyage home.  It’s not safe here… you remember who gored the Queen’s niece and nephew on these very stones, don’t you?”  They both looked at Vivienne.  Brienne refused to believe that Daenerys would ever hurt a child, but a sense of urgency came over her none the less and they made for the docks under cover of darkness.  And as for Vivienne being the bloodborn child of one of the most monstrous men in the history of Westeros…  _ I cannot think about that now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a beast to write. I hope it turned out okay and the action isn't confusing. Anyway, thanks for reading and I appreciate the feedback! I have one more chapter left of this story to tie it all together :)
> 
> Also - as far as the sister Sandor is talking about, I'm just going with the rumor that there was a Clegane sister at one point that died under mysterious circumstances.


	12. The Seed is Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Tyrion POV.

**The Seed is Strong**

 

Months had passed since the wedding, and one evening when Tyrion returned from a stroll through the keep, he stopped in to visit Viserion in the enormous hall she had taken over.  She lay curled near the largest heart and she raised her long, cylindrical head when she head him come in.

“How are you, my girl?” Tyrion asked as he approached.

She trilled loudly then uncoiled her tail to reveal a clutch of eggs pressed against her belly.  She’d finally laid them.

“Gods,” Tyrion gasped as he stopped in his tracks.  He was unsure if she would allow him near.  But from his vantage point he could see that it was large clutch of at least six eggs, perhaps more.  They shone in the firelight, some a mixture of black and cream, others green and gold.   _So, you have a bit of Drogon and Rhaegal in there._  Tyrion wasn’t sure what that meant, but he decided to take another step forward.

Viserion turned her neck to him, asking for a scratch and he obliged.  When she shifted he saw a seventh egg, and the colors made him do a double take.  The egg was a mixture of cream and a deep vibrant blue.

“Where in the world…” he said and Viserion purred with satisfaction at his befuddlement.  “Have you found more of your kin out there on your journeys across the ocean?”  She must have.  He had to send a raven to Samwell Tarly.  He would find this interesting.

After having men stoke the fires to keep Viserion warm and happy, Tyrion went to Daenerys to tell her the good news.  He found her standing on the balcony staring at the ocean.  This was her thinking spot; he’d found her in the same position the night of their wedding after the feast.

Daenerys had been quiet that night.  He had seen she was troubled, mulling something over in her head as she gazed out over the Blackwater.  Tyrion had feared to ask what she was thinking.  Instead, he’d sipped wine and taken care of the aftermath of the disaster that had been their wedding.  When he’d returned, Daenerys finally spoke.

“Since when does Lord Buckler know the inner workings of a mother’s heart?”  Her voice had resonated with a practiced tone of disgust.  “I don’t care where the girl came from.  She is the legitimate heir to Tarth, and Brienne’s lawful daughter.  I will hear no more of this.  Inform Lord Buckler that I will strip him of his lands and titles if he does not cease this harassment.”

“Yes, my Queen.”  Tyrion had been both humbled by her power and relieved at her decision.  He’d turned to leave and deliver this message, but Daenerys had spoken again.

“Oh, and husband?  Please remind Lord Buckler that I have one dragon left.”

“Of course, my wife.”

The memory of Lord Buckler’s smug face crumbling upon hearing this news still made Tyrion smile.  As Hand, Tyrion usually advised prudence, but Buckler was such a cunt Tyrion would not have minded feeding him to Viserion right there and then.

But tonight there was something a little different.  Her hands rested flat on the balcony rail and her hips swayed side to side, as if she were trying to get comfortable.

“Viserion has laid her eggs,” he said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice.

She turned and smiled, her eyes lighting up with glee like a child.  “How is she?”

“Very well, and taking to motherhood nicely it seems.  She laid seven eggs.”

Daenerys nodded then came to kiss him on the cheek.  He thought she would be more excited, but she only looked tired.  “I am going to bed.  I did not sleep well last night.  Love you,” she said and padded off to the bedroom.  After checking on Viserion one more time, Tyrion joined her.

In the middle of the night, Tyrion was jarred awake by Daenerys frantically ripping the blankets off of them.  He became aware of a warm, wet sensation against his skin and he sat upright.  The sheets were soaked with something hot and wet.

“No,” Daenerys moaned and scrambled to her hands and knees.  “Blood.”

Tyrion’s heart skipped a beat.   _No, please._  The room was pitch black but it didn’t smell like blood, and as he fumbled to light the candle at their bedside, Daenerys pressed her palm into the soaked sheets and brought her fingers to her lips to taste it in her desperation to identify it.

“It’s not blood,” she sighed, then collected herself.  “My water has broken.”  She nodded to herself, completely ensconced in her own mind, wrapping her head around it, preparing herself for what was to come.

“I will send for the Maester,” Tyrion said in a calming voice.

“And Missandei, I need her.”

“Of course.”  

She climbed from the bed and squatted down next to it, resting her head on the mattress.  Her hips shifted slowly from side to side.  She groaned in pain, and whispered quietly.  “I am the blood of the dragon.”  He did not want to leave her side, but he had to trust her.  She had been here before, even if it had not ended well.

After summoning the Maesters that were on standby day and night, he went to Missandei’s quarters.  Unsullied stood guard outside, but they stepped aside for him and he knocked on the wooden door.

“Your Grace,” she said and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“It’s time.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.  Then she stepped away from the door for a moment and returned lugging two heavy bricks.  They were birthing bricks, a custom of Naath.  Missandei had worked on them for months, ever since Daenerys had realized she was with child.  Scenes of dragons frolicking over the ocean and of children running happily in the streets were painted upon them by Missandei’s own hand.  Daenerys was to stand on them as she gave birth.  To bring good fortune, Missandei had explained.

The Unsullied took the bricks and escorted Missandei to the Queen’s room.

“Your Grace,” Varys said as he appeared from around a corner.  “It’s quite the night.”

“How the bloody hells…” Tyrion began.  Varys still had ears everywhere, it seemed.

“I will wait with you.”

Tyrion relented.  “Thank you.  And send for some wine, would you?”

 

Tyrion waited with Varys in the solar outside of the royal rooms.  Everyone was running.  It was a chaotic scene and it made Tyrion nervous.   _Where is the damn wine._

But before the wine could even arrive, a squalling, righteous cry reverberated along the stones of the Red Keep.  It did not stop and only grew louder until the Maester stuck his head out the door.  His face was beet red and he could barely catch his breath.

“A precipitous labor, your Grace,” he panted.  He looked like he had just faced a Dothraki horde on the open plain.  “Mother and child are healthy and doing well.  The babe’s heart and lungs are sound, and his color is satisfactory.”

Tyrion’s mouth hung agape.  He was a father.

Beyond the door, the babe quieted.  After a time, Missandei emerged smiling radiantly.  Tyrion had always thought she was beautiful, and her love for Daenerys only compounded that.

“Your son is impatient, your Grace.  He could barely wait for us to get there before he emerged into this world.”

“May I go in?”

“Yes, the Queen awaits.”

Tyrion nervously stepped into the dark room.  He could see Daenerys sitting on the bed, propped up with pillows.  The babe was nursing at her breast.

“Your son,” she said and smiled.  Her face was flush and her eyes were the most content he had ever seen them.  He came close and kissed Daenerys on the forehead then looked down at the red faced bundle in her arms.

“He’s… a bit small,” Tyrion said with a catch in his voice.  The babe was comely, with a wisp of white blonde hair and eyes so blue they were nearly violet.  He looked like a doll, with a large head and tiny arms and legs.   _He is a dwarf._

“He’s perfect,” Daenerys replied and arched her brow at him in that enigmatic way he loved so much.

He smiled and smoothed his own stubby hand over his son’s matching one.  What life had in store for his little son he could only guess.  Adversity and pain, triumph and failure.  But Tyrion would be there for him every step of the way.

In the morning, the Maester asked if Daenerys would like a dragon egg placed in the prince’s crib, as the Targaryens of old traditionally did.

“No.  Do not take Viserion’s children from her.”  Daenerys’ tone was icy.

“Yes, I believe Viserion is the most well-equipped to take care of them anyway,” Tyrion added to smooth it over, but after the Maester left, he grinned at his wife’s sharp tongue.  It did not look like motherhood would change Daenerys one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is coming to and end, but I have one more chapter left :D Hope to have it out this week - it is mostly written. Thanks again for any feedback and for sticking with this story, it has taken much longer to write than I ever intended!


	13. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three POVs

**Reconciliation**

 

**Bronn**

 

Bronn sat in near darkness at the bow of his ship as it rocked gently in the harbor of Duskendale.   _ The Dornishman’s Wife _ was a fine vessel, fast and maneuverable.  Perfect for a merchant vessel that would take on the occasional smuggling job.  They were in port to get her sails repaired.  Far down the coast of Blackwater Bay, he could make out the faint lights of King’s Landing.  Any prick with a castle or a name was there tonight.  The highborn had come from across the realm to celebrate the birth of the prince.  Bronn took a swig of his whiskey and snorted.  Tyrion a father.  And if rumor was true, the prince was a dwarf as well.

“Ah, Tyrion.  I miss that little shit.”

His crew was ashore in Duskendale to drink and wench at the local inn, but Bronn found he had become a solitary creature as of late.  Drinking alone and reminiscing on the past instead of enjoying the present.  Perhaps he was just getting old.  Though he could almost guarantee that Jaime and Tyrion were drinking it up and having a grand old time together at the Red Keep this evening.

Bronn stood and ran his hand along the polished wood of the railing.  The ship was real and it was his.  He’d never owned anything this expensive in his life.  The closest he had gotten was with his betrothal to the Stokeworth girl, and the Lannisters had ruined that for him too.  No, this ship had been worth it.  Bronn drained his flask then walked down the gangplank.  It had to be worth it.

The  _ Seven Swords _ stood four stories tall, and Bronn’s mood perked a bit as he approached the building.  The whiskey was kicking in.  His foot slid off the side of a cobblestone and he nearly lost his balance.  He’d had a bit more than he’d realized.

“Evenin’ Cap’n,” someone shouted from the porch.  It was his navigator, a young lad named Kip, son of a fisherman.  But he had too many older brothers, and there had been no room for him on his father’s boat.

“Kip,” Bronn nodded to him.  The porch was packed with people laughing and singing along with a fiddler who played a jovial tune.  “The rest of the boys inside?”

Kip nodded.  “Can I buy you a drink, Cap’n?”

Bronn grinned.  He liked the lad.  “Drinks are on me tonight.”

Kip’s eyes lit up and the girl next to him giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck.  “I’ll take good care of him, milord,” the pretty thing said.

_ I’m no lord.   _ But Bronn only smiled to her and entered the inn.

The air inside was surprisingly fresh.  The hearth roared but windows and doors stood open to let in the spring air.  The inn was seeing more business than it had since the royal wedding.  The smallfolk wanted to get as close to King’s Landing as they could in hopes that they would be some of the lucky ones to get through the gates of the city and see the presentation of the prince to the people.  The realm loved the Queen and her Hand-turned-husband, and the royal baby was the happiest news to come out of King’s Landing since the Great War ended.

Bronn nodded to a few more of his crew who yelled greetings back to him.  He did not have the love of the realm, but at least his crew seemed to like him well enough.  He sidled up to the bar and caught the attention of the innkeep.

“We have no rooms,” the heavy woman said breathlessly.  Her cheeks were red from the cookfire and she pushed wisps of blonde hair from her face.

“I don’t need a room, but I am paying for my men’s drinks tonight,” Bronn said.  “Him, him,” he said pointing out his crew.  “Him over there, and the skinny lad on the porch.  And I’ll take a whiskey.”

The innkeep smiled.  “What a generous captain.  Let me know if you need anything else.”

Bronn noticed a man getting up from his seat and grabbing his cloak at the far end of the bar.  Bronn took his whiskey and snagged the vacated stool.  This end of the bar stretched away from the hearth and into a darker, quieter corner of the inn.  Bronn sighed and took a drink, feeling the liquid heat his throat and belly.  There had been a time he’d believed he would never be warm again.  Those long endless nights at Winterfell when he and Jaime fought side by side against the undead.  Jaime had been his brother-in-arms.   _ Fucking hells.   _ He downed his whiskey, deciding he could not think any more on the matter.  He was just about to raise his arm to get the attention of the barkeep for a refill when his sellsword ears caught a bit of conversation going on behind him.

“-better to strike in the confusion in King’s Landing.  Better chance of egress.”

“Aye.  I hear he paid for two.”

“The man wants this girl dead.  He hired one to carry out the deed, and an archer to back him up.”

Bronn felt his throat begin to close up.  The barkeep snapped her fingers in front of his face.  “Refill?  Your boys are going to drink you out of house and home, by the way.”

Bronn pushed the glass towards her and casually leaned on the bartop as he refocused his hearing on the conversation behind him.

“Nasty fucking business,” one of the men muttered.

“Aye, not many people would take that job.  Killing a little girl.”

“Makes me sick.  Poor woman.  That’s her only child, ain’t it?”

The other man chuckled darkly.  “That’s the only heir, but as far as her being a woman… I’d argue that.  Have you ever seen her?  Gigantic beast.  How the Kingslayer fucks her after his sister-”

Bronn pounded his palms on the bartop and stood, knocking his stool back to clatter on the floor.  He whirled around and slammed his fist straight into the man’s mouth.  Bones crunched, teeth cracked, and blood gushed down the his face.  The man fell backward in his chair, out cold.  His friend backed away from the table and scrambled for the door, but Bronn’s little navigator grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back inside.

“When is it happening?” Bronn growled between clenched teeth.  “When?”

“I… I don’t know for sure.”

Bronn cuffed him in the side of the head.

“WHEN?”

“I only heard it would be while they were in King’s Landing.”  The man rubbed the side of his head.  He looked tired and old, perhaps twice Bronn’s age, and Bronn almost felt bad for hitting him.

Bronn turned to his first mate.  “The ship?”

His first mate shook his head.  “The sail’s aren’t back from repairs yet.”

“Watch her while I’m gone,” Bronn commanded then turned to the innkeep.  “Get me your fastest horse, and see her saddled.”

 

**Jaime**

 

“Nice outfit,” Jaime said as he leaned against the door frame of he and Brienne’s room in the Red Keep.  They were back in King’s Landing to celebrate the birth of the prince.  Today, his lovely wife wore a dress,  _ a dress _ , and it was something that flowed and fit her well.  It made her look quite ethereal, actually.  Then she strapped Oathkeeper around her waist and he chuckled.

“What?” she asked in all seriousness.

Jaime shook his head.  “Nothing.  You look beautiful.”  The dress had been made by Daenerys’ Meereenese tailor.  The Queen had wanted to make up for the ill-fitting dress Brienne had been given for the wedding.

“Vivienne wants to see the all ships at the dock.  I’m going to walk through the market on the way.”  Brienne gave her hair a haphazard toss with her fingers.  She still wore it short, but she kept it soft and wavy instead of in the harsh slicked-back look she favored during wartime.

“Alright, have fun.  I am going to meet Tyrion for some food and brotherly banter,” he said and kissed her goodbye.

 

Jaime found Tyrion in the main hall of the keep.  Dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his hair was askew, but he had an enormous smile on his face.  Jaime noticed the Hound sat at the other end of the table eating alone.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t give the baby to the nurse at night,” Jaime said as he slid into a seat across from his brother.

“Daenerys will not part with the child, and she won’t use a wet nurse either.  So the baby sleeps at our bedside.  I just remind myself that eventually this child  _ will _ sleep through the night.  And I overeat to make myself feel better in the morning.”  He stuffed a strip of bacon into his mouth, then took a big bite of his buttered hard roll.

A steward appeared at their tableside.  Jaime assumed he was there to take his order and began to tell him what he wanted to eat, but the steward interrupted.

“Your Grace.” He bowed first to Tyrion, then turned to Jaime.  “Milord, there is a man at the gates demanding to speak with you.  He says his name is Bronn.”

Jaime’s temper flared just at the sound of the sellsword’s name, and Tyrion stood up and growled to the steward.  “Tell that bastard to get out of this city immediately, or he will find himself in one of the black cells.”

The steward nearly trembled, but managed to squeak out a few more words.  “He says the little lady Vivienne is in danger.”

Jaime’s heart clenched in his chest.  “Seven fucking hells,” he murmured and stood up.  Tyrion was already marching out of the hall calling for for the commander of the guard, and Jaime saw the Hound rise up from his seat as well.  Jaime and the Hound took off at the sprint, rambling down hallways towards the main gate of the keep.

Bronn stood at the gate with the most frantic expression Jaime had ever seen on his tanned, wrinkled face.  That was saying a lot considering what he and Bronn had been through together over the years.  A horse next to him breathed hard through flared nostrils and its muscles quivered and twitched.  The poor beast was nearly blown.  Foam dripped from it mouth and coated its flanks.

“Where’s your girl?” was all Bronn said.  Jaime saw he had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Jaime stared at him, frozen for a moment.  The most untrustworthy man he had ever met stood before him.

“They are coming to kill her,” Bronn said in exasperation.  “Where is she?”

“She’s with Brienne at the market, on the way to the docks.”  He had no choice but to trust him.

“Let’s go then,” the Hound said.  The three of them took off together with the Hound’s hulking form leading the way, barrelling through the crowd and clearing the path ahead of them.

 

When they arrived at the market, Jaime looked over the crowd with dismay.  The market swarmed with people, clustered so tight that they could barely move.  The morning fog still hung in the air as well as the smell of food and the subtle tang of last night’s chamber pots.  Jaime felt panic set in.  How would he find her in this crowd.

“Up there,” Bronn murmured and Jaime followed his gaze to a rooftop.  A man in plain clothes sat at the corner, and then Jaime saw an arrow tip glint in the sunlight.

“I see her,” the Hound said.  He stood a head taller than most of the crowd, and from his vantage point he found Brienne and Vivienne in the sea of people.  He unsheathed his sword.  “I’ll get your girls, you get the archer.”

Jaime and Bronn pushed their way to the alley that ran along the backside of the building.  Bronn scaled the ladder easily, but it took Jaime some time with only one hand.  He crested the roofline just in time to see Bronn tackle the archer and pin him to the ground with his knee.  He was smart to capture him alive.  The assassin could be put to question, though Jaime already knew who had hired him.  That fucking cunt Buckler.

He ran to the edge of the roof and looked down into the crowd searching for Brienne, hoping the Hound had reached her in time.

 

**Brienne**

 

“Pretty!” Vivienne squealed as she ran to a market stall peddling jewelry.  “Blue, blue,” she said and the women at the storefront smiled at her.  Vivienne easily charmed most people, something she had in common with Jaime.  Brienne smirked to herself and joined Vivienne at the counter.

“Yes, blue.  Very good.”  Brienne picked up a tiny bracelet and held it to Vivienne’s wrist.

“Very lovely, my lady.  It matches the girl’s eyes.”

Vivienne’s face lit up, and when the women told her the price, Brienne found out another thing that daughter and father had in common - expensive taste.

“Alright, Viv.  But jewelry is not a toy.  You must take good care of it.”

She paid the woman and was just about to fasten the bracelet around Vivienne’s wrist when she heard rapid footsteps approaching, and the clink of steel on steel.

She turned just in time to see a man in plain clothes burst through the crowd and lunge at Vivienne, sword in hand.

Moving on instinct, she put herself between Vivienne and the attacker while simultaneously drawing her sword.  The women at the jewelry shop screamed and trays of necklaces clattered to the cobblestones.  A clearing opened up around Brienne and she saw the attacker clearly and that he wielded twin blades.  She was bigger than him, but he was fast, and he swung first with his rapier.  She barely dodged it and struck back with Oathkeeper, but the wiry man stepped to the side and used his parrying dagger to redirect her blow.  His style reminded her of a Braavosi water dancer.

Her stomach rolled violently as if it had a mind of its own, and it struck her then that she was all alone.  There was not another sword in sight with every man-at-arms guarding the keep and the new prince.  Was there more than one attacker?  She could feel Vivienne’s presence behind her, but the girl did not make a sound.  She’d seen her mother spar many times in the yards of Tarth.  The clashing of steel was not a foreign sight to her.  Brienne’s heart pounded, palms sweaty as anxiety welled up in her chest, but then the strangest thing happened.  Something  _ kicked _ her.  From the inside, as if it was feeling her adrenaline rush with her.  There was no mistaking it, and suddenly she was completely focused.   _ Come on, you bloody bastard, I dare you to try that again. _

He did, but the steel sang in her hands, and she promptly had him on his heels.  In her periphery, she registered the Hound’s formidable form emerge from the crowd with his sword drawn.  But he let Brienne fight, only coming to stand at Vivienne’s side, a looming hulk daring anyone else to come at the girl.  The Hound’s confidence in Brienne made her pound against the assassin with ferocious abandon as the wispy fabric of her dress swirled around her.  She thought the man would give in, but he kept fighting even to the last swing, even after Brienne had commanded him to lay down his sword.  Finally, she put down a killing blow across his chest and finished him by thrusting Oathkeeper in to the hilt.  Her surge of adrenaline rivaled that of the one she had felt when she’d dispatched with Stannis in the Wolfswood years ago.  But this time there was a baby -  _ baby?!? _ \- in her belly thumping wildly against her ribs. Vivienne ran to her and Brienne scooped her up in her arms.

The Hound nodded to her and stooped down to collect the dead man’s weapons.  He picked up the forgotten bracelet and came over to fasten it about Vivienne’s tiny wrist.  She smiled at him.

Jaime burst through the ring of spectators surrounding them.  “Brienne!” he said and came towards her.  “Are you alright?”

Brienne nodded and she heard the Hound grumble that the assassin never stood a chance.

Jaime took Vivienne from her arms and it was only then that she noticed she was breathing hard and her hands were covered in blood.  She smiled at Jaime who tilted his head and gave her a confused little smile back.  “Brienne?” he said, more quiet this time.

“Everything is fine,” she said and took his hand to her belly, “but I have something to tell you.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tossed around a few ideas of how to end this story. I finally decided to just have an all-out happy ending because the show has been destroying lately. So, in my head, Brienne and Jaime go on to have a little boy and they name him Dayne. But I had to end the story here or else I never would! This chapter was supposed to be a reconciliation of sorts between the Lannister brothers and Bronn. I’m not sure that they will ever really be friends again, but at least Bronn got a chance to redeem himself. Also, this last bit was supposed to show Brienne reconciling motherhood with being a warrior and proving to herself that she can do both. And Vivienne has a lot of bad ass people watching her back, including Uncle Sandor :D


End file.
